


I Can Feel You Across The Line

by YZYdragon2222



Category: Hiveswap, Homestuck
Genre: Amputation, Canon Disabled Character, Courtroom Drama, F/F, F/M, Flushed Romance, Forbidden Love, GamTav - Freeform, Gen, Hemospectrum, Homestuck - Freeform, Kismesissitude, M/M, Matespritship, Moirallegiance, PB&J, Paralysis, Slavery, Troll Call, War, Warstuck, blood castes, hiveswap - Freeform, quadrants
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-26 23:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 207,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12568700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YZYdragon2222/pseuds/YZYdragon2222
Summary: Tavros is a troll who loves life, even though it has never been kind to him.  When the war between highbloods and lowbloods breaks out, he finds himself at a moral conflict when he, a brownblood, dares to love the lives of his enemies.  When Tavros falls into the hands of the enemy, his compassionate resolve is tested.  He learns about pity and hate, but his love for life only grows stronger to the point where he can't let go.  Perhaps fate is responsible for the fact that a purple highblood is the first to truly recognize Tavros's weaknesses as strengths, as they unwittingly find their other halves in each other.  It is only their profound connection to one another that gives them the courage to step across the line and embark on a journey of justice, equality, and sacrifice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if anyone reads Homestuck-related shit anymore. I have found myself in the unfortunate situation of falling hard for Pb&j even though the fandom hasn't been active for...a while. I can't help writing this crap, though, so I hope there are still some poor sufferers out there who love Homestuck and who OTP GamTav like me. Fuck our pathetic lives, as Karkat would say. }:o/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11/25/2017: Just added a new illustration for this chapter }:o) https://yzydragon2222.deviantart.com/art/The-Battle-Aftermath-716862866

Chapter 1

\--> BE TAVROS NITRAM

If there is anything worse than war itself, it's the hard times that come before war breaks out, when the coils of hatred, discontent, and suffering roil and clash with no release, no relief.

You are a brownblood, the second-lowest possible blood color on the twelve-toned hemospectrum. And in the kingdom of Alternia, you were no better than shit.

In Alternia, lowblood trolls were tested when they turned 8 sweeps old before a panel of highbloods, to see if they could contribute to society in any way. If a brownblood passed, he or she would become a laborer or slave of some sort. If he failed, he or she was fed to the imperial drones. Lowbloods who survived never lasted very long thereafter, but it wasn't, despite popular belief, because they had shorter lifespans. Their hard lives would make it impossible for any troll to live long.

The imperial drones themselves were impartial to the hemospectrum. They had not so much conscious thought as they had natural instinct, and their instinct was to gather filial pails for the Mother Grub and to cull trolls who were unfit to contribute to trollkind. Unfortunately, the highbloods in power offered the drones much in terms of culling sacrifices, so since long before you were born, the imperial drones were allied with the highbloods, and culled whomever the highbloods deemed necessary to cull.

As a wiggler, you weren't yet an official slave, but you lived like one. The highbloods forced wigglers of your ilk to live crowded together in dilapidated hives where you had little in terms of water, food, or sopor slime. Hygiene was horrendous to the point where you were literally living in shit. Fitting, said the highbloods, for shitbloods to live in their own filth anyway.

Unfortunately for you, even among the trolls of your own color, you were hated. Your horns took up too much space. You were too small. You were too meek. You talked too softly and too slowly. You were too short. You wished everyone could be friends since you were all suffering together, and they hated you for that too. For lowbloods as low as your own kind, the only way to avoid culling was to outshine and step over your fellow brownbloods, and friendship was no way to achieve that. But for the life of you you couldn't treat anyone with malicious intentions, even if that would have benefitted you in the long run.

You remember the first time you saw a highblood, truly saw one in front of your own eyes. It was the most terrifying experience in your life.

Sometimes, the highbloods would gather up lowblood wigglers and force them, naked and without dignity, into the city square, where a couple would be picked out and brutally sacrificed for entertainment by subjugglators. Subjugglators were purplebloods, because even though weren't the highest in the hemospectrum, they were the most bloodthirsty and sadistic. And their chucklevoodoos were more powerful than any other known power on the hemospectrum.

That day, you were being paraded amidst the mass of naked bodies, pushed and shoved without mercy, while the crowd around you jeered at you and cheered at your humiliation. Your large horns knocked over one of your fellow trolls and, kindhearted as you were, you stopped to help him up. But it was no use, the mass of bodies trampled over his arms, legs, torso, and head until blood pooled around his dead body.

You were shell-shocked and frozen to the spot as the crowd jostled around you. Suddenly, a forceful hand wrapped around your upper arm and dragged you into a standing position. You choked, an apology on your lips, expecting to see a subjugglator looming over you and for your life to end within seconds, but it was a purpleblood wiggler, who looked your age.

He was taller than you (who wasn't?), but his curved, skyward horns gave the illusion of added height. He wasn't old enough to be a subjugglator but he had a club in his hands, and you were sure he was going to bash your brains in right there. He wouldn't have gotten in trouble for it--probably would even have been rewarded for killing a shitblood.

But he didn't, instead shoving your sorry ass back into the crowd without a word, and within seconds he was obstructed from your view. But for those few seconds that your eyes met--

His expression had been unreadable, while yours displayed all the vulnerability and fear you were feeling with no filter. While there was by no means any trace of friendliness in his face, you couldn't find hatred or disgust either. It was the implications that he possibly didn't despise you (unlikely as that was) that scared you even more than the prospect of culling or torture.

The encounter had been too brief for you to remember his face, but you didn't think you would ever forget those long, elegant horns (so unlike your bulky ones) and those mysterious, hooded eyes.

The revolution happened less than a sweep before you turned eight. You were too young to have been involved in the planning and execution of it--in fact, you had no idea it was going to happen. You only remember being awoken in the middle of your troubled sleep by a couple of adult yellowbloods, who herded you and other wigglers to the edges of the city and deep into the wilderness.

That was the first day of the War of High and Low. You suspect the revolution worked only because the highbloods had not dreamed of lowbloods having so much power and nerve, and because lowbloods outnumbered highbloods, and because it was so unexpected. Furthermore, the lowbloods were able to escape into the wilderness and were much better equipped to survive in the harsh feral conditions, unlike the pampered highbloods.

As a result of that day, Alternian society was forever changed. The hemospectrum was divided cleanly through the middle. Jade and lower joined the Low Side, teal and higher joined the High Side. The High Side retained control of the cities and had lost most of their lowblood workforce. Still, they had money and resources and planned to recapture their rogue lowbloods as soon as possible.

The Low Side continued to live in the wilderness, plotting to overthrow the High Side somehow. They had the advantage of talent and the element of surprise but not much else. Still, they held on.

The imperial drones did not know who to side with now that the highbloods had lost a significant amount of power. No one was really sure what the drones did these days.

When you finally arrived at a Low Side shelter that day, in the middle of the forest, your fellow rescued trolls celebrated their newfound freedom. You sat underneath a tree and cried for all those who had not been as lucky as you, and had been killed in the bloodbath that was the revolution.

After the celebrations, the Low Side started making plans on how to wage war against the High Side. You were put in a platoon along with other trolls your age. You were still hated by your fellow soldiers (because that was what you were now) for the same reasons--too shy, too weak, too cowardly, unfit to fight. But for once, you weren't belittled for being brown and you got to meet people outside your blood color. You met some people you would one day call your friends. You were...happy.

But then you would hear your fellow trolls cursing and dissing highbloods, calling them sickbloods, and expressing their desire to kill them, rip them apart, torture them, do unspeakable things to them. You couldn't stand violence. You didn't sympathize with the High Side one bit but you wondered when the hatred would ever end. You wondered when you could stop being a lowblood and just be a troll. Maybe highbloods were destined to hate lowbloods and lowbloods destined to hate highbloods forever. Maybe nothing had changed. Maybe nothing ever would.

\----------

Now, you are nine and a half sweeps old. The war effort is at pretty much a stalemate right now. The Low Side hasn't had it easy, but has still been able to hide out in forests and mountain ranges. Because of a surprising number of computer geniuses on this side of the war, there has been a private untraceable communication system set up called Pesterchum, which allows soldiers to communicate with each other without detection from the High Side and over long distances, since the Low Side Army is stretched thin across many areas of of undeveloped land. One of those geniuses is your friend, Sollux Captor, a yellow blood. Thanks in part to Sollux, the Low Side has also managed to hack some of the High Side's electronic communications and anticipate their next moves, thereby avoiding fatal conflict that the Low Side would inevitably lose.

You're still on the same platoon which, because of the young average age, has been nicknamed "The Rookies". Most of the Rookies think you're pathetic (which you are), but you've proven yourself surprisingly useful on more than one occasion because of your affinity to animals.

Most brownbloods can commune with animals, but your control and range is particularly strong. You often find yourself subconsciously befriending wild creatures even from many miles away, using kindness and trust, rather than threats and power dynamics, to gain their loyalty to the point where the most ferocious monster would come to your aid even without your summons. Normally, your platoon doesn't find this particularly impressive because you don't do much except chat with and feed the animals and you never use them for combative purposes. You are fine with this because you don't want them pressuring you to manipulate the animals in a harmful way. You can't find it in yourself to put them in harm's way.

No one knows that you can also commune with lusii, which is not a normal brownblood ability. You don't know if it's a mutation but you're not about to ask. Even on the Low Side, mutations are treated with suspicion. Just take your friend Karkat.

Karkat Vantas is a fireball of a troll with anger towards the entire world. He would be limeblooded, but because of a mutation his blood is a freakish candy red. The Low Side accepted him because he was still technically a lowblood, but even among the Rookies he couldn't escape the looks and taunts.

You were one of the few oddballs who literally didn't give a shit, and you and those oddballs formed a tight-knit, unofficial six-person squad. Karkat was your leader, and the others were Sollux, your burgundyblood best friend Aradia Megido (who is also Sollux's moirail), Nepeta Leijon, an oliveblood, and Kanaya Maryam, a jadeblood.

You are currently marching with your little gang of outcasts alongside the rest of the platoon. Because the adult trolls don't trust the Rookies to take dangerous missions, most of the time you are involved in reconnaissance. You have yet to have had a run-in with the High Side. Karkat and Sollux complain endlessly about being underestimated but you hope you aren't expected to ever go into battle. You hate violence. You don't want to die, you don't want your friends to die, and even though you don't dare voice this, you don't wish death upon the enemy either. But you want even less to be forced to kill somebody. You have been trained with firearms and have become adept at using a lance. You've got the technical side down, but killing a real troll is different from slashing a dummy.

You've been marching for most of the night and even Karkat, whose high supply of energy seems to be another mutation of his, seems to be weary and subdued. He's not screaming, which is a first. He's just cursing under his breath as you all trudge on.

You decide to the summon the wild herd of hoofbeasts you've befriended. They're about a mile away and you've been chatting with them in your head for the past hour or so. Ten minutes later, six of them arrive, tame and friendly. They kneel down, waiting to be mounted. You mount one and address your friends.

"Um, guys, you can, uh, ride them, so you don't have to keep walking, because that is very tiring, I think, and we should save our energy, just in case, so, um, yeah. They are, uh, nice."

Your friends sigh in relief and mount the animals. A couple of members in your platoon shoot jealous looks at the six of you but are too proud to ask you to summon another hoofbeast.

About another ten minutes pass by and the hoofbeasts obediently carry all of you. "Hey Nitram," Karkat calls out to you.

"Uh, yeah, Karkat?"

"You're not so bad, you know, when you're not being a completely useless piece of stuttering shit."

You beam with pride and joy. Karkat, being Karkat, might as well have just sung you the highest praises. You open your mouth to thank him, but are interrupted by a loud--

BANG.

Nepeta lets out a soft scream and you whirl to look at her. She's bent double over her hoofbeast, clutching a shoulder. Within a second, Kanaya has leapt from her hoofbeast onto Nepeta's, cradling the girl in her arms who is whimpering in pain.

She has been shot.

"What in the--"

But you don't hear Sollux finish his sentence, because more bangs permeate the night air and someone is screaming, "Ambush!"

The world erupts in chaos. Your fellow soldiers are running around, mounting their weapons and shooting into the trees. You hear bangs and screams everywhere. You catch a glimpse of someone in the trees. It must be one of the High Side's soldiers, and your heart freezes.

You send a mental command to the hoofbeasts to keep your friends safe and to stay calm just as you hear your commander, Dammek, holler, "Stand your ground! Do not abscond! We can take them sickbloods!"

You mount your rifle and point in the direction of the trees. You resolve not to shoot unless you see something move, but then you see an enemy troll running through the trees and your finger is frozen on the trigger, and you can't do it.

Suddenly, your head screams in pain and the scene around you dissolves into darkness. You are still aiming your rifle, but the sounds of battle around you have quieted, as though you are listening through several walls. And a loud, commanding voice speaks to you. "Shoot, motherfucker. You know you want to."

A figure walks out of the darkness and you realize that is is Karkat. But there is an eerie calmness on his face that makes you convinced that this isn't real. He walks into the muzzle of your gun.

"Kill me, Tavros."

You begin to sob.

Karkat dissolves and turns into Sollux.

"Do it, TV."

Sollux disappears and is replaced by Kanaya.

"It will be over so fast, Tavros."

Kanaya becomes Aradia.

"I'm just a burgundyblood, Tavros. No one will miss me."

"NO!" you scream.

Aradia dissolves and is replaced by the tall, lanky, figure of another troll. For a moment you do not recognize his face, until you look up at the long curvy horns and realize who this is.

"You, you--"

You let out a scream and using all of your body strength, you throw down your weapon. "I can't!" you yell in desperation. "I can't kill you. I can't let you die!"

The purpleblood's eyes widen and he looks stunned into shock.

And he disappears, and nauseatingly you are thrust back into reality and the deafening noises coming from all around you invade your head.

And you hear Commander Dammek yell, "IT'S THE CHUCKLEVOODOOS! They've got a purpleblood! Retreat, retreat!"

You scream, but not in response to Dammek's words. Pain has suddenly exploded in your lower back, and it is so intense that you can see and hear nothing. Agony fills invades your every sense and in the midst of the torture that makes you wish for death, you realize that you have been shot. You are rolling off your hoofbeast and tumbling onto the ground.

Your senses are still too frazzled to be used but chucklevoodoos are no laughing matter. You force your eyes open but there are black spots attacking your vision. You try to move, but breathing in it of itself sends agony shooting through your back. Desperately, you force your mind into your hoofbeast's and see through his eyes.

Half of your platoon is decimated. Colors from all over the lower half of the hemospectrum paint the ground and corpses without heads, heads without corpses, and bloody arms, legs, and horns are the forest's new carpet. The survivors are all in varying states of alarm, panic, and determination to ABSCOND THE FUCK OUTTA THERE.

You locate the five other hoofbeasts. Kanaya and Nepeta are still together on Nepeta's, and Kanaya's is absent. It must have been killed. Sollux and Aradia are still mounted and seem unhurt, but Aradia is screaming about something and Sollux cannot calm her down. Karkat has fallen off his hoofbeast and is clutching a bloody leg, his face twisted with pain.

You command the animal to pick up Karkat and flip him onto its back. Then you command the creatures to carry your friends as far away from this hellhole as possible, NOW. Aradia screams even louder as she is being carried away by the creature underneath her, but within seconds the speedy beasts have vacated the scene on their powerful legs.

You are about to tell your own hoofbeast to pick you up and take you out of there as well, but then, still through the hoofbeast's eyes, you see a feebly stirring figure. It is Commander Dammek.

It doesn't take you long to decide. The platoon needs Dammek: he is powerful and brave leader, and exactly what a real troll should be. You? Who are you kidding? You're pathetic. You'd only be holding them down. You couldn't even kill a highblood.

You tell the hoofbeast to flip Dammek onto its back as the other had Karkat, and within seconds, your hoofbeast is galloping away. Someone screams "They're getting away!" and gunfire rips through the air once again. But the hoofbeast lets you know that he and Dammek are both fine, the enemy missed, and now they are joining Karkat, Sollux, Aradia, Nepeta, and Kanaya in safety. They are all alive.

You finally release your hold on the animal's mind, trusting that it will carry on your will to protect your friends. Suddenly you are alone on the forest floor again, and your exhausted mind and body are ready to give in. Your hand fumbles around and closes in on someone's leg. With effort, you look to see who it is and find that your clutching your own leg. You wonder why your legs feel invisible.

This the thought that follows you as you descend into darkness.

\--> BE VRISKA SERKET

You yawn.

War has turned out to be sooooooo disappointing. When the revolution first broke out, you were thrilled at the idea of action. You were bored out of your mind when things were peaceful. You don't give a fuck about blood color or about the High Side; you are a blueblood--not too high, not too low. No one ever really bothered you. You wanted to do something. War happened and you jumped at your chance.

But noooooooo, you had to be grouped with a bunch of other idiots and because of your young age, you barely get to fight. War is just a lot of sitting around and waiting, and you aren't even allowed to prey on your fellow soldiers.

And even when you do go into battle, it's far too chaotic for you to gain satisfaction. You are the type of sadistic fuck who likes to toy with her food, peeling them apart layer by layer. In battle, there is no time for that. You can't use your mind control, because you can only control one mind at a time and there's really no point in doing that when dozens of trolls are shooting at each other.

Things got slightly interesting when Gamzee pulled out his chucklevoodoos today and you got to watch a bunch of Low Side trolls squirm on the ground as they underwent their mental torture. It's easy to forget how powerful he is. But the incompetent dumbass withdrew his 'voodoos and a bunch of them got to escape. Why the hell did he do that anyway?

Oh, well. You killed a lot of people today but it was particularly satisfying to watch one cutie scream as he fell off the hoofbeast he'd been sitting on dumbly as he suffered under Gamzee's torture.

You kick bodies aside as you scan the battleground aftermath. You step around a tree and kick something hard. You look down and realize that it is a troll's orange-yellow horn.

"Speak of the little devil!" you say. It's that cutie. Gog, you've never seen anyone with horns that big, long and sturdy like a bull's. It's at odds with his scrawny little body.

You crouch down and slap his face lightly. "It's a pity you're on the wrong side you know. All the things I could've done to you..."

You are almost startled when he sputters and coughs. He's alive! You hadn't expected that. You are annoyed that your shot didn't kill him, but at the same time you are delighted. Your platoon's last prisoner-of-war is long dead.

You slap him a few more times but he doesn't wake up. You sigh and roughly pick him up. He is so light, probably lighter than you, and he's a boy.

You carry him all the way back to where the rest of your squad is gathered. You notice that Gamzee  
is absent. You ask where he is.

"The highblood has returned to camp," Equius tells you. "He is not feeling well." You shrug, then show off the prize in your arms with a smirk. "Look what we have here," you say.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11/26/2017: New illustration for this chapter! https://yzydragon2222.deviantart.com/art/YoU-cAn-T-tAkE-yOuR-eYeS-oFf-HIM-717153368

Chapter 2

\--> BE ARADIA MEGIDO

The chucklevoodoos were terrifying. You had only heard whispered legends of the unholy powers of those of purple blood, and the horrors they promised paled in comparison with the reality of it. Under their influence, you heard hundreds and thousands of voices beating through your skull. You felt your body catch on fire. You saw the loathsome highbloods crowding around your burning body. The voodoos made you think that you deserved this treatment, because you were the lowest of the low of hemospectral castes.

The psychological torture ended abruptly, leaving you reeling. You heard the commander yell, "IT'S THE CHUCKLEVOODOOS! They've got a purpleblood! Retreat, retreat!" There is blind panic evident in his voice.

You spared a moment to think that the experience was the most painful and most terrifying of your life. How fervently the universe must hate you, because not two seconds later, you are proved wrong.

You hear a scream of agony and you turn to see gentle, innocent Tavros, your best friend--tumble off his hoofbeast and hit the ground. He rolls out of your sight and he does not get back up.

The consequences of Tavros's fall is immediately apparent in the hoofbeasts' behavior. Without your best friend's gentle influence, the beast begin to panic, trotting and whinneying nervously. Kanaya's unmanned horse actually prances right into the heart of the bullet shower and is immediately killed with a shot to the head. Karkat, whose leg was already injured, slides ungracefully off of his hoofbeast when it bucks about in confusion and fear. "TAVROS, GET A GRIP BEFORE YOUR FUCKING ANIMALS GET US FUCKING KILLED--" Karkat yells, and you realize that no one else has realized what happened to your friend.

You hear someone screaming and realize that you are someone when Sollux calls out to you, pleading for you to calm down. For once, you don't care what your moirail is saying; you are just staring at the spot where Tavros fell, chanting get up get up GET UP over and over in your head to no avail.

Abruptly, the nervous hoofbeasts calm down once more. It is as though someone had flicked a switch within them that said "tranquil". It is painfully obvious that only someone with immaculate control over beasts could be responsible for this. Karkat's picks him up and flips him onto its back, and before you can comprehend the situation, you and your friends are being taken away from the danger; the hoofbeasts' strong legs carry you swiftly through the trees, the battlefield growing smaller and dimmer behind you.

You reach a clearing and the hoofbeasts stop. Yours seems to sense your hysteria and snorts softly, as though trying to comfort you. You sob even harder, because the gentle action reminds of you of all the times Tavros hugged you and whispered, "Aradia, everything is gonna b-be okay."

A fifth hoofbeast suddenly gallops into the clearing and your heart leaps in joyous disbelief for a fraction of a second, until it plummets into the freezing depths of grief once more. There is someone on its back but it's not Tavros. It's Commander Dammek, and you realize that Tavros sacrificed himself to save the commander.

Now he is alone, lying on the cold, forest floor, possibly in pain, possibly fatally injured...

He saved your lives, and you hate him for it! How could he leave you?! Why did you deserve to be saved? You knew that no one was going to save Tavros now.

The clearing gradually fills with the survivors of the battle, of which there are not many. You sit on the ground, staring at nothing as Tavros's agonized scream replays over and over in your head like a broken record.

Your friends seem to have been too busy to pay attention to you. Nepeta is lying on the ground, sniffing. She was hit in the shoulder but the wound doesn't look too serious; she's lucky that the bullet only grazed her. Karkat is already sitting in the ground, bandaging up his own leg. Kanaya, who has the most medical experience, finishes fussing over them and comes over to you and Sollux.

"Are the two of you all right?"

"No, obviouthly not," Sollux spits. "AA is freaking the fuck out and I don't know why, and TV ith--" Sollux cuts himself off and looks around. "Wait, TV?"

"Gone," you say before you can stop yourself.

Sollux, Kanaya, Nepeta, and Karkat are all looking at you now, but you don't even know what to say. There are varying degrees of shock and confusion on their faces.

"What?" Karkat asks dumbly after a long pause.

"He fell," you whisper. "I saw him."

"Well if he fucking fell where did he--"

"HE FUCKING GOT SHOT, OKAY?"

Your friends jump at the sound of your raised voice. Sollux is suddenly right in front of you and gripping your hand desperately with a heartbreaking expression on his face. You collapse onto his shoulder.

"You mean, back there?" Kanaya gasps, expression completely unguarded. "So he is still--"

"But it can't be!" Karkat explodes. "I mean, he's the one who had the hoofbeasts bring us back here! He can't--I mean--fuck--he's probably around here somewhere--TAVROS!" he calls. His eyes are panicked now. "THIS ISN'T FUCKING FUNNY, YOU BULGESTAIN--"

"Shut up!" you snap at Karkat. "All of you are always ignoring how powerful Tavros actually is when it comes to communing with animals. It's a piece of cake for him. Don't pretend he couldn't be controlling them even while he was--was--" You swallow. "I saw him get shot and fall. The next thing that happens, all of our hoofbeasts are bringing our ungrateful asses to safety. He was probably in pain and he still fucking saved us."

"But his hoofbeast came back--"

"With our injured commander on its back," you finish. "Tavros didn't come back."

Karkat is openly gaping at you now, and in any other situation you would have found his dazed expression funny. You cling to Sollux's warm embrace, trying to find comfort.

Nepeta starts wailing. She was close to Tavros too. "B-b-b-but--" she whimpers. "Ta-ta-Tafuros--Tavros--"

"AA," Sollux whispers, and you can hear the strain of grief in his voice that he is trying to keep under control, "ith he...dead?"

This snaps you back into reality. You...you can communicate with the dead! You can still reach Tavros--tell him that you are so, so sorry, that you wanted to at least say goodbye--

You screw your eyes shut and reach out to the voices of the netherworld. You hear the mournful whispers of many of the newly dead soldiers on your platoon, but every time you call for Tavros silence answers you. Considering how close the two of you were in life, it shouldn't be this hard to find him. You resort to asking the other dead trolls if they've seen your friend, but all of them tell you he's not here, he's not here...

After a copious amount of ruthless searching, you come to a conclusion and reopen your eyes. Your four friends are looking at you expectantly.

"He's not dead," you say, unable to believe it yourself.

"Tafuros is still alive?" Nepeta squeals. She has the most hopeful expression on her face and you feel a small smile growing on yours. "Maybe we can still find him--"

But Kanaya, Sollux, and Karkat all seem to be falling from grief to stricken horror. "Oh no," Sollux mumbles.

"What?" you ask apprehensively.

"The highbloods will have taken over the area by now," Kanaya says. "He will have fallen into their hands..."

Karkat buries his face into his hands and lets out a strangled  
scream as you feel fear and dread swallow your insides. "I wish he were fucking dead. He'd be better off dead than there," he says.

\--> BE FEFERI PEIXES

When Gamzee storms back to camp, alone, with a dark look on his face, you don't ask him what happened even though you are dying to know. When Gamzee looks like that, no one is safe from his wrath, not even you, who is his friend. Sort of. As much of a friend as anyone can be to Gamzee, anyway.

Gamzee is the only purpleblood in your division of the army, just as you are the only fuchsiablood. There was an uproar when you decided to enlist; the few trolls of your honorable blood caste would never consider stopping so low as to joining the ranks, if not as a general or some high position like that. But you have long since realized that blood color does not buy happiness, and you would rather be out here, on the field, helping your people with your skills as a medic, than sitting on your ass back in the city and ordering servants around.

You hoped that people would treat you as an equal once you came here, but you were disappointed. This division consists mostly of teal, cobalt, and indigobloods, and they either fear you or revere you.

You have fallen into an uneasy alliance with a few other trolls. Here in highblood camp, trolls are constantly fighting to dominate one another, and crippling injuries or deaths have been resulted from brawls more than once.

First, there is Eridan Ampora, a pompous violetblood who is one of only two others of his blood caste in this division. You were swept off your feet by his dry humor and straightforward attitude, and the two of you became quick moirails. Lately, however, your relationship has become shaky due to his bloodthirstiness and cruel streak. You think his penchant for violence is unnecessary; he thinks you are naive.

There is Equius Zahhak, an unnaturally strong troll who is quiet and shy. The first time he met you, he nearly cracked the ground open trying to kowtow, which you assured him was unnecessary. He is kind of...weird, which caused the other trolls to avoid him, but he is admirably dedicated to the cause of restoring troll society under the hemospectrum.

There is Terezi Pyrope and Vriska Serket, both of whom seem to give no fucks about the hemospectrum, unlike Equius, and only enlisted for lack of something better to do. The two girls hate each other; you suspect that Vriska is the reason why Terezi is blind. More than once, you have wondered whether they could be kismeses, but Vriska seems to see Terezi less as a rival and more as a bothersome fly.

You like Terezi. She is bold and brash and proud and brave, and, despite her lack of sight, stunningly perceptive. Whenever Eridan infuriates you, you go to her, and her harsh humor always makes you feel better.

Vriska...well. Nobody likes Vriska. You tried, you did, but damn, the manipulative bitch makes it hard for you to be anything except borderline polite and curt with her. You don't know why she likes hanging around you. Sometimes, you feel the slightest twinge of pity for her, because maybe she's just lonely and no one else will accept her without copious suspicion. But she probably just wants to annoy you. However, even Eridan has agreed with you that it isn't worth getting on her bad side.

Finally, there is Gamzee. He is a descendant of the Grand Highblood himself, who lived a thousand sweeps ago and was notorious for being the most sadistic, ruthless, and unscrupulous subjugglator of all time. You don't doubt that Gamzee has the potential to surpass him. You remember the first day Gamzee arrived at camp, which had been abuzz with excitement about the upcoming arrival of a purpleblood. The crowd had fallen silent at the sight of him, for his painted face and deprived eyes made for a very intimidating figure. Without batting an eye, Gamzee proceeded to clobber twenty trolls to death. Even Eridan and Vriska observed with horror and disgust on their faces. When he was done ripping the limbs off his last victim, Gamzee strode over to you, drenched in various shades of blue blood. "Yo, fishsis," he greeted with a lazy grin. "Gamzee Makara. Got any motherfucking Faygo?"

People fear and revere you for being fuchsia. But people just fear Gamzee. Because he's Gamzee.

\----------

The night only gets fishier when Vriska, Equius, Terezi, and Eridan return to camp. Eridan comes to you and gives you a quick kiss on the cheek ahead of everyone else. You can practically feel his tension, even though you expected him to be in a good mood. You know they went out to attack a lowblood platoon today, and normally killing lowbloods makes Eridan's day.

"Are you okay?" you ask him.

He gives a long suffering sigh. "Oh, it's alright, Fef. Just Vvris being extra troublesome, is all."

Speak of the devil. Vriska saunters up to you and you have to double-take, because there is another troll in Vriska's arms. You are surprised, because never in your memory has Vriska helped up a comrade or carried a fallen soldier--such grueling work is beneath her, she says. But this troll...the way she is holding him against her chest is almost...gentle. She is running a hand through his hair, which is styled in a mohawk, and you wonder if she is aware of what she is doing.

You don't recognize him. Your voice catches in your throat. "Is that--"

"A snack," Vriska practically purrs, and her hand wraps around the troll's enormous bull horns.

Terezi huffs and crosses her arms. "We tried to tell spiderbitch to leave him there, he smells like a lowly soldier anyway, it's unlikely he'll have any useful information. Or she could have used her freaky mind powers to wake him up back there, get the info we need, and get rid of the poor bastard, but noooooooo," Terezi does a comical impression of Vriska's voice, "she had to bring him back here, because the sight of his sweating, unconscious body is making her so horny."

Equius clear his throat, clearly sweating.

"He does smell quite pleasant, though, like mocha or caramel. Mm. Rustbloods are always interesting."

Vriska shrugs unconcernedly and doesn't stop caressing the troll's horns. "So, Feferi, think you can handle him? The useless thing got himself shot back on the field, and while I don't mind the prospect of him squirming in pain, I can't have in dying on me while I...interrogate him." She smirks. "Make sure his life isn't in danger. For now."

"You wwant Fef to operate on that...filth?" Eridan spits, eyes popping. "Wwhy Fef? There are a bunch of other medics who could do it, if it really is so important."

"Shoosh, Eridan, I don't mind," you say, and you really don't. You are actually insatiably curious and want to get a closer look at the lowblood.

"But, Fef!" Eridan protests. You ignore him.

"I can take care of him from here," you say, holding your arms out.

Vriska smiles smugly in your face and steps around you, not relinquishing her hold of the brownblood. You catch a glimpse of his face, and it is astonishingly pale. Your medic instincts kick in and you itch to help this troll, enemy or not. Vriska strides into your tent and places the troll down on your bed. Eridan protests even louder. "Wwhy do you have to put him here? This is Fef's room! The piece of shit belongs in the dungeons! Or at least you could put him in the medic tent. Noww his dirty blood is gonna get everywwhere!"

Vriska shrugs, not taking her eyes off the troll. Her hands are covered in the troll's blood and you notice that it is a rich bronze color. It's different from what you're used to and actually...quite a beautiful color. "Shitblood" doesn't accurately describe this blood color at all. "I thought it would be more comfortable for Feferi to work in the peace and quiet of her own tent," Vriska says. "Since this is such a speeeeeeeecial patient."

Terezi makes a gagging noise and Equius mumbles about the impropriety of the situation. While you are annoyed at Vriska for entering your quarters uninvited, you are secretly grateful, because you really don't want to be interrupted in the busy medic tent while working on this fellow.

Vriska's eyes focus on the brownblood and you can tell she is about to use her mind powers. Despite themselves, Eridan, Terezi, and Equius step forward to observe out of curiosity.

"Wake up," she commands him.

Slowly, unfocused eyes pry themselves open and you are staring down into wide, warm chocolate brown eyes. They blink in confusion, and then the troll's face contorts into a wince. It takes all of your self-control not to rush forward and soothe him.

"W-where...am I?" he chokes. His voice is so high and childish.

"You're in enemy territory, brownblood," Vriska smirks into his face. "Be very afraid."

"O-oh." He seems to be trying really hard to stay awake. "I am, uh, very afraid, but I am also, very tired...are you going to kill me?"

"Not yet," Vriska smiles. "Don't worry, we're not like you ruffian lowbloods. We play nicely."

You don't know much about lowblood behavior but you know that Vriska is lying about playing nicely.

"O-oh," the troll says. He squints up at Vriska. "You...you have cool horns."

For once, Vriska looks surprised and incredulous. She clearly did not expect to be complimented.

"My horns always get in the way. They're...so big. And heavy and...people have to stay three feet, away from me, so...that I don't hurt people. So, uh, be careful, I think. One time I hit someone, and they, uh, died, and I thought I was gonna be culled...because of the sacrifice...but it was really sad..." he is getting increasingly incoherent.

Amazingly, Vriska's face is flushed. She doesn't seem to know what to reply the troll. You realize that she's blushing and you gape.

"You're...a blueblood," he says slowly. There is no accusation or disgust in his voice, just a plain observation.

You clear your throat. "Okay, that's enough, Vriska. Put him back to sleep so I can treat him. He's clearly delirious."

The brownblood's eyes move over to you and notice you for the first time. "Thanks...I'm really tired." He closes his eyes and instantly falls unconscious once more and Vriska doesn't mind control him to stay awake.

An awkward silence settles over the room. Vriska is staring down at the the sleeping troll with an expression of anger and shock.

"That was...unexpected," Equius supplies unhelpfully.

"All right, all of you, out, now, I need my space if I'm going to get anything done," you say. Your mind is reeling. Vriska stomps out of the room and Terezi and Equius reluctantly follow.

"Wwhat's Vvris's problem?" Eridan huffs.

"You too, Eridan," you say firmly.

"But, Fef!" Eridan protests.

"Sorry, darling, but I really want to focus, and your pretty face is only going to distract me."

"My face is not pretty," Eridan pouts, half-amused, half-offended. "It is uniquely handsome."

With a final huff he leaves your tent, and you can't help but breathe a sigh of relief.

You rush to the medic tent so you can gather the supplies you need, like surgical tools and the X-ray scanner.

You try to remind yourself that this is the enemy as you scan your patient. It's hard. It's your instinct to heal. But the fact that this lowblood is so different from your wildest expectations is making it even harder to see him in a negative light. His entire appearance screams innocence. He is not at all big and bulky; he's probably the tiniest male troll you've encountered. The only part of his body that suggests fierceness are his sturdy horns, but he wears them in a way that seems completely non-threatening. You can't help but find this little guy...adorable.

You can't help yourself--you cry when you confirm the diagnosis for his condition. You were careful removing the bullet from his lower back, your gloved hands becoming smothered in his exotic blood. You cut away the inflamed flesh and tried to save the frayed nerves. But there was no saving a severed spinal cord. This boy would never walk again.

You don't understand why fate would make this sweet young man--for he really was so young--a lowblood. Weren't lowbloods supposed to be vile and undeserving of pity? And for him to be so damningly disabled, and permanently, too--

But you suppose permanently wouldn't mean much to the brownblood. It didn't matter what you felt, or what fucked up desires Vriska had for him: he was a lone prisoner of war in a ruthless highblood army camp, and once he woke up, his remaining days were going to be numbered, and they were only going to get more painful.

You are exhausted when you are finally finished. You discard your blood-soaked gloves and clean the bronze off your supplies. His breath is steady and he is in a deep sleep right now, and your heart aches at the peaceful expression decorating his face at the moment. Gingerly, you move him into a more comfortable position and squeeze his hand, silently wishing him luck.

Then you fall into a chair next to the bed, too exhausted to even crawl a few steps to your recuperaroon, and fall into a troubled sleep.

\----------

You are horribly busy the next few nights with the injured to attend to in the medic tent. There are no injuries quite as bad as the brownblood's, and you can't put him out of your mind. He is still resting in your quarters. You don't want to discharge him yet, even though he's well enough to leave your tent if he takes the pain medication you've been feeding him. Cod knows what will happen to him once he leaves the safety of your tent. You also haven't told him about his new disability. You don't know why but you can't find the heart to do it. Maybe it's because you know he'll die soon and you don't want this news to add to his misery.

He is the sweetest, shyest boy you've ever met. Even though you're a fuchsiablood and an enemy, he's incredibly polite and thanks you profusely for taking care of him. He even apologizes for taking up space and causing you trouble. You wish he wouldn't, because his behavior just makes you sadder. He's asked several times about his legs, but you tell him he was badly hurt and will take time to heal. Guilt is eating you up.

The night wraps up and you return to your tent. You don't talk to Eridan because he's mad at you for treating the brownblood so nicely, and you're made at him for being so unkind. You don't talk to anyone and you wonder whether the brownblood is awake. You enter your tent and--

The bed is empty.

You gasp in horror and run outside in panic. Several trolls look at you strangely but you ignore them. Nothing seems out of the ordinary around here--

A firm hand grasps your arm and you turn to find Terezi with her mouth pressed in a firm line. She leads you all the way across the camp, where a small crowd is gathered. You hear them jeering and calling out rude words. Eridan is already there, and you see a smirk on his face. Something ice cold shoots through your heart and you feel like you are looking at your moirail through a new set of glasses, and you don't like what you see one bit.

You peer through the heads of the crowd and you get a clear glimpse of the scene unfolding in the middle of it.

The brownblood is sprawled at the base of a tree, his unresponsive legs carelessly folded in front of him. His eyes are a bit unfocused from the medication you gave him, but the fear racking his body is evident from the way he is shaking and cowering.

Vriska is standing over him with an unhinged look in her eyes that you have never seen before. You realize that she must have sneaked into your room and "kidnapped" the brownblood. You don't understand why she seems to have a personal vendetta against the him. She's known Terezi for much longer and Vriska's never been half as emotionally invested in Terezi as she is with this boy.

"You. Are soooooooo. Pathetic," Vriska is seething in his face. "You can't even look at me properly in the eye. What are you, scared?"

The crowd boos at him. "Cowardly piece of shit!" they yell.

He is quaking like a leaf. "S-s-s-sorry," he whimpers.

If anything, his lack of resistance makes Vriska more annoyed.

"What's your name, dumbass?" she demands.

He fidgets with his hands for a long time, as though reluctant to tell her but too terrified not to. "T-t-toreador..." he whispers.

Vriska finally cracks a smile. "Okay, Toreadumbass, guess what?" She grips his chin and forces him to look at her, and his big brown eyes water. "I know you're lying. So why don't you tell me what your real name is?"

Vriska's eyes zero in on the brownblood and his expression goes blank. You can tell she's mind controlling him.

"My name is Tavros Nitram," the brownblood says emotionlessly.

\-->  BE GAMZEE MAKARA

You are sitting alone in your tent.  There is a bottle of Faygo in your hands BUT FOR ONCE YOU DON'T MOTHERFUCKING WANT IT.  It's so quiet in your head that EVERYTHING'S MOTHERFUCKING LOUD AND YOU CAN'T FOCUS ON A FUCKING THING.  The voices of the motherfucking messiahs have always whispered their prophetic messages in your head, guiding you along your path.  Now they are silent and your head is full of questions.  HAVE THE MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS ABANDONED YOU?  No, no, no, no, no, that can't be.  You don't believe in anti-miracles like that.  Your clownish religion SAVED YOU.  So why the fuck is it SO MOTHERFUCKING SILENT?

...Is it because you failed your duty?  BECAUSE YOU SPARED THAT PIECE OF SHIT RUSTBLOOD?  ...That wasn't on purpose.  THAT WASN'T ON FUCKING PURPOSE.  He wasn't supposed to be spared. He is no different from the other shitstains in his motherfucking blood caste.  His blood is just as FUCKING DIRTY. 

But his mind...

The mirthful messiahs have given you the power of the chucklevoodoos to subdue the disgusting RATS that infest the Alternia. Your chucklevoodoos allow you to invade the minds of other trolls and experience their thoughts and emotions first-hand. When you let your chucklevoodoos sing, you are not planting illusions in your victims' minds. You are, of course, capable of doing so, and most other subjugglators prefer to use illusions to torture their victims. But YOU, however, simply ENHANCE the vile motherfucking POISON that already festers inside a motherfucker's head, AMPLIFYING underlying darkness and fears, because it is so much WORSE to have suffer through your own most negative emotions than some fabricated shit.

Everyone is a LOWBLOOD to you because none of them UNDERSTAND. As a purpleblood, YOU ARE A PROPHET OF THE MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS. Only purple blood is pure. Every other GODDAMN color on the fucking hemospectrum belongs painted on your walls or on your clubs or all over your motherfucking hands. It's their sick, blasphemous minds that taint the color of their blood. THEY DON'T FUCKING UNDERSTAND. The only way to purify their souls before the presentation of the VAST HONK is if their heads and limbs can be ripped off and clobbered off their bodies, splattering the floor.

It is always SO DELICIOUS. Your victims' fear and pain feels so good inside your head, and their heads are always filled with such sick, vile, BLASPHEMOUS thoughts that you are only too content to BASH THEIR SKULLS IN, ridding society of the shit inside.

THAT brownblood didn't start off that special, although he had so much fear it was quite hilarious. What a coward. You were only too HAPPY to INDULGE IN HIS FEARS LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING PIE MADE OF SOPOR AND MIRACLES. You located his worst nightmare and made him live through it, which seemed to involve his being responsible for his friends' deaths. How boring. So he was not only a coward but also lame as fuck.

But then you saw something in his head that scared you so much that you completely lost concentration and your chucklevoodoos stopped singing. How did this sniveling coward possess such a terrifying power that could throw off even THE LIKES OF YOU?

And right after that, spiderbitch SHOT HIM and that was the end.

You throw yourself to the floor. "To the motherfucking lord of the mirthful messiahs, forgive your loyal son!" you plead. "I MOTHERFUCKING MADE A MISTAKE and a shitblood got the better of me. MY FAILURE SHALL NOT BE REPEATED, motherfucker. It shall be non-repetitive to the likes of which you've never fucking seen, you won't even believe how much my mistake WON'T BE FUCKING REPEATED. Now guide me in the right direction, lord. Just point a skinny ass finger if you have to and I SHALL MOTHERFUCKING FOLLOW."

You don't get a single word of response.

The silence is so LOUD that the commotion happening outside the tent is becoming audible. Normally, you don't give a fuck if the other people in this gogforsaken camp shove their horns up their own nooks, but your mind is so distracted that you drift outside to observe if there's anything worth witnessing.

There is sizable crowd gathered outside and they seem to be watching some spectacle. There are too many heads and horns in the way and you can't see what's so goddamn interesting in the middle of this crowd. However, spiderbitch's voice comes loud and clear. "I know you're lying. So why don't you tell me what your real name is?"

A voice you don't recognize answers, "My name is Tavros Nitram." It is squeaky and high, and it sorta sounds like a duck's quack. HONK, that's kinda funny.

You stride up to Equius, who is standing a short distance from the blind chick and fishsis, and all three of them look pretty damn miserable, especially fishsis. "What's all up and got your motherfucking frown on, motherfucker?"

"Vriska is...toying with the new prisoner-of-war, highblood," Equius replies stiffly. "It is a lowblood that she has taken...a STRONG interest in. Of course, the lowblood deserves only the worst, but...Vriska's behavior is unbecoming of a troll of her caste."

"Good boy," you hear Vriska purr.  "That wasn't so hard, was it?  Now, Toreadumbass, how old are you?"

"Nine-and-a-half," the duck voice says.

"Is the spiderbitch all up and using her bitchtits mind powers on the motherfucker?" you ask, interest piqued.

"Yes."

"MotherFUCK," you say.

You think Serket is the bitchiest of all bitches, but that doesn't stop her from being interesting. Her powers CAN NEVER MOTHERFUCKING COMPARE TO YOUR CHUCKLEVOODOOS but she is still pretty wicked. You still can't see her and whoever she's grilling through the thick of the crowd but you decide to amuse yourself and listen.

"You have a lusus, Toreadumbass?"

"Yes, but I, haven't seen him for a, long time."

"Poor baby Toreador. What was his name?"

"Tinkerbull."

"Stupid name. I bet he was culled for being your lusus," spiderbitch sneers. "Or did he drown himself in shame? What lusus would want such patheeeeeeeetic troll?" The crowd howls with laughter, but you actually feel stung by spiderbitch's comment. You push the unmiraculous feeling aside.

"All right, Toreadumbass," spiderbitch says.  "Now to the important stuff.  Tell me what you know about the Low Side."

The crowd hushes in anticipation of the lowblood's answer, but there is long silence.

"...Nothing? Wow, you're even more pathetic than I thought. Even the Low Side doesn't trust you!" spiderbitch laughs. "But come now. Taaaaaaaavros. You must know soooooooomething. Do you have any idea, for example, why the lowblood army keeps managing to avoid us? It's like we can never find them, like they're predicting our moves."

There is a long stretch of silence again. Finally, the quacky voice answers, "Yes, I do have an i-idea, why, that is." The lowblood sounds much shakier this time, less monotonous, as though no longer under spiderbitch's full control.

"Well?" spiderbitch demands, and she sounds kind of motherfucking frustrated. "Tell me!"

There is another long silence, and the crowd fidgets impatiently.

And finally, he says: "N-n-no."

There is a moment of shocked silence, and there isn't a single mouth that isn't gaping with disbelief; even stoic Equius is standing with his mouth lolling open.

Then the crowd breaks out into shouts.

No one has EVER defied spiderbitch's mind controlling before. Much less some LOWBLOOD.

"QUIET!" spiderbitch snarls, and she's scary enough that the noise dims. "The fuck did you say to me, lowblood?"

When the lowblood speaks again, his voice is shaking like a fucking earthquake and it sounds ten times softer, but it doesn't take a dumbass to tell that he has broken off completely from Serket's influence. This is his natural voice, spoken of his own volition, not the monotonous drone that spiderbitch's victims take on.

"I-I-I am really sorry, I know that is, not the answer you wanted, but I can't tell you, b-b-because if I do, y-you might, um, h-hurt my f-f-f-f-friends..."

You are just starting to think that you might've heard that voice somewhere before when the crowd happens to part right in front you and your line of vision connects directly with the brownblood who is sitting at the base of tree, looking like he's about to piss his pants in fear.

Spiderbitch doesn't have a chance to respond because you are already butchering through the crowd in front of you, a red haze before your eyes. Your club hits more than a few bastards who are in your way and you don't stop to check whether they are dead or not, because you don't MOTHERFUCKING CARE. People are screaming in pain and alarm as you leave a bloodbath in your wake.

You can't take your eyes off HIM.

It's HIM.

HIM, HIM, HIM, HIM, HIM.

His mouth is frozen in a scream but you don't hear any sound coming out. You crouch down, inches from his face, and his pupils are shrunken in his terror, revealing the deep brown of the irises.

You wonder what he sees in your purple eyes.

"It's, it's, it's, it's y-you," he stutters horribly.

A hand yanks at your shoulder and you snarl. Of course, only spiderbitch would have the nerve to interrupt you. "Makara, what the hell?" she shrieks. "I wasn't finished."

"You CLEARLY ARE AS FINISHED AS A USED WHORE, seeing as your mind powers didn't MOTHERFUCKING WORK!" You don't even turn around to look at Serket, remaining solely focused on the brownblood.

You roughly grab his arm and try to drag him up onto his feet, but he flails underneath your grip like a flopping fish and cries out in pain, his eyes screwed shut and his other hand clutching his lower back. You suddenly remember that that is where he was shot with a bullet that you thought had killed him, but clearly hadn't.

You could drag him by the horn through the dirt, and your highblood instincts are screaming at you to do so. "Mistreat the lowblood" should be your second nature by now. But for reasons you yourself can't fathom, you pick him up in your arms instead, bridal style, and he's not only shaking like a motherfucking leaf but he might as well weigh one for how light he is.

"That wasn't the extent of what I could do, Gaaaaaaamzee," spiderbitch huffs. "Put him down, I still need to get information from him!"

"Then I'll motherfucking do it, spidersis," you say.

"It's not like youuuuuuuu care about information that could benefit us. Besides, he's mine," Serket whines.

"You better watch what you say BECAUSE YOUR BLOOD WOULD LOOK MIRACULOUS ALL OVER THE MOTHERFUCKING GROUND," you say, and spiderbitch actually recoils a little bit. "He was mine first."

Spiderbitch is glaring daggers into your back and the camp is in practical chaos as you carry the brownblood away, but you don't give a damn. The walk back to your tent isn't far, but it feels like it's been miles by the time you get there, because all you can comprehend is the rhythm of his racing heart, the feverish heat of his scrawny body against your chest, the bronze glow of his skin, his tiny gasps of horror and pain, and the way his hands are bunched into fists around the fabric of your shirt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was surprisingly hard to write. Also, Alternian nighttime/daytime is fucking with my head. Let me know if the brutal head-fucking made my writing any shittier as well. 
> 
> PB interacts with J in this chapter };o)
> 
> I'll try to get Chapter 4 up ASAP.
> 
> 11/24/2017: I'm adding illustrations to this story because I like to draw as well as write, even though I'm mediocre at both. }:o/ Here's a new illustration to go with this chapter! Will be continuing to add pictures at other points in the story. https://yzydragon2222.deviantart.com/art/DoN-t-MoThErFuCkInG-aPoLoGiZe-716745495?ga_submit_new=10%3A1511558409

Chapter 3

\--> BE GAMZEE MAKARA

You are normally a calm, collected, and confident motherfucker, but the little brownblood's racing pulse is drilling nervousness against your body and your bloodpusher begins to pick up speed alongside his. Your heartbeats are fucking pounding against each other like some lovesick drum duet.

The other highbloods are still screaming like motherfucking banshees, demanding "the shitblood's head be taken off his shoulders" for disobeying and disrespecting a highblood, the fucking nerve of him! Who does he think he is?

You ignore them and briefly wonder how he feels about their words. Obviously he can hear them just as well as you.

Once you enter the privacy of your tent, you start to feel awkward. No one else has been in here before (alive, that is). If anyone else had entered your tent in any other circumstance, you wouldn't have thought twice before adding their body fluids to your blood mural. Just thinking about it makes you itch for blood. You contemplate digging your claws into the warm, soft flesh of the troll in your arms and ripping his fucking skin open. It would be so easy...but the thought of him screaming in pain and dying at your feet, his lovely vital fluids bleeding out dry, spells all kinds of wrong in your thinkpan for some reason, and you can't, YOU MOTHERFUCKING CAN'T DO IT.

You can tell he is trying to be as still and unobtrusive in your arms as possible, but he is shaking too violently for him to be anything but glaringly obvious.

You consider dumping him on the floor and making him crawl after you like a lowly worm, but decide against it. He's wounded, after all (and when did that ever stop you before?). Instead, you walk over to the largest of your several horn piles and lower him onto it, eliciting several loud honks and a high-pitched squeak from him. He immediately bites his lip as though trying to keep quiet. He's motherfucking cute.

You freeze and backtrack--wait, motherfuck, cute--what?

You sit on the ground next to him, unsure of what to say, and to your surprise he doesn't cower or look away from you, although he is clearly supremely uncomfortable with the situation. He appears to be supporting himself up by his elbows.

He looks like he wants to say something for a long while, and when he finally relents his voice is laced with pain.

"I-is it o-o-okay i-if I l-lie down?" he squeaks. "Not out o-of, uhh, d-disrespect or anything like t-that but, uh, I'm s-still rec-covering and I-I'll be able to f-focus better if I m-my back isn't in, uh, so much, pain."

You are surprised that he asks you so respectfully, even though he clearly is about to shit his pants in your very presence. Or that he so freely admitted to being in pain. In your experience, trolls always try to feign strength in the presence of an enemy, even when they are clearly out-of-commission from their injuries. You could fucking saw their arms off and they'd still threaten to sock you in the face with their nonexistent fists. You always found it annoying when people tried to hide their obvious weaknesses, what was the fucking point?

But not this one. You are already at a loss for what to feel.

"All up and do whatever SUITS a motherfucker," you say, still looking intently into his brown eyes. Now that you are in close range, you notice that his eyes aren't as dark as you originally thought; they're rather like a warm milk chocolate infused with burnt orange. You are unable to control yourself when you lick your lips.

"Th-thank you." Gingerly, he tries to heave himself onto his side, but for some reason he doesn't seem to be able to move the lower half of his body properly and is struggling spectacularly to complete this simple task. You move over and pick him up before laying him down on his side. He is forced to position his head at an awkward angle because of those big-ass horns, but he doesn't complain, instead looking surprised that you actually gave him a hand.

His breathing is heavy. "You motherfucking hurt, Tavros?" you ask. That was his name, right?

A mixture of confusion and happiness appears on his face when you say his name. It quickly grows wary and he stutters, "Y-yes but--I'm f-fine, F-feferi has been taking, uh, good care of, me."

You know that fishsis can be protective of her patients, all up and acting like an overbearing motherfucking lusus sometimes. No wonder she looked so sour when Serket was...all up and doing whatever the fuck she was doing to this fucker out there. "Motherfucking spiderbitch took you from fishsis's charge before she was supposed to?"

"Oh, umm, are you talking about, uh, Vriska? Well...I'm sure she, uh, wasn't doing anything, uh, wrong," (the fuck? Is he actually defending the motherfucking Serket bitch?) "b-because, I'm not a highblood, and am technically, an u-unimportant p-p-prisoner, here..." Coffee-colored tears fill his eyes as he says this and he looks away from you.

You frown, but it's not like what he's saying is untrue, is it?

"I wouldn't be too sure about the 'UNIMPORTANT' part," you settle for saying.

This only seems to make him more upset, and he frantically wipes away the tears collecting in his eyes.

You move forward and pry his hands away from his face. His shimmering eyes widen and he gulps so hard you can hear it. You catch one of those of bronze tears on your finger. One of your sharp claws just barely grazes his flushed skin, and you suppress the shudder that runs up and down your body.

The brown teardrop is a cheap substitute for the warm, thick blood that you like to spill from your victims, but the colored liquid makes your head spin with pleasure nonetheless.

You fall back before you do anything else rash. For a while you just sit there, eyeing Tavros carefully as he just lies there on your horn pile. He says nothing.

"How'd you throw off spiderbitch?" you ask. "Ain't seen NO MOTHERFUCKER throw her off like NOTHING before."

"I-it wasn't, uh, like nothing," he eeps. "Vriska is, uh, really, powerful, a-and when she got into, my head, she made me tell her, uhh, my name, and uh, about my l-lusus, in f-front of everybody, b-back there..."

"But she all up and asked you about the motherfucking LOW SIDE and you all up and REFUSED, didn'tcha?"

"I, uh, pushed her out, of my head, b-because I didn't want to tell her, b-because telling her would m-mean putting all of m-my friends, on the, uh, the Low Side, at r-r-risk...b-but it was r-really hard, it wasn't like nothing, Vriska really is, um, strong..."

You ponder this. "Those motherfuckers outside there would all up and have you SHREDDED LIMB FROM LIMB because you refused to speak."

He whimpers a little. "I k-k-k-know, b-b-but I think, um, they, already want to shred me, limb from limb I mean, and maybe do a number of other, questionable things, b-because of the fact that I, uh, a-am a lowblood..."

He seems to accept that as a fact so easily, and it astounds you. "And as a motherfucking LOWBLOOD, when you see a highblood, do you have the MOTHERFUCKING DESIRE to into SHRED HIM TO A MILLION tiny little PIECES in VENGEANCE?"

"N-no!" he cries, almost forcefully, as though revolted by the thought.

"Why the fuck not?" you ask, genuinely curious. "Ain't that what the Low Side's all up and about? BLASPHEMOUS THINGS like destroying highbloods and shit?"

He doesn't answer, instead fidgeting with his hands and looking away from you again.

"Ain't their cause what you're fighting for? What you motherfucking WANT?"

It takes him a long time to answer, and his eyes grow distant as though in deep thought, but he eventually breathes out, "I just want peace."

Motherfucking peace. You can't figure out if that's the most profound or the most bullshit thing you've ever heard. After a while you realize that he never said yes, the Low Side's cause is what he believes in and is fighting for. Does that mean he...doesn't support them? Interesting. But then...

"But then why fucking withhold information about them from us? It would save all of us A WHOLE LOT OF MOTHERFUCKING WICKED TROUBLE, and that includes for you."

"If I'm g-gonna die, anyway, I m-might as well try--"

"What if I told you that giving us the fucking info will save you a HELL OF A SHITLOAD of pain? Maybe...a painless death? Or how about this. You give the motherfucking intel...and I set you free?"

His eyes light up. "F-free? R-really?"

"Free as a morning songbird, motherfucker."

You don't know why you're saying this. Would you really set him free if he gave up the information? In honesty, it's not like you really give that many craps about whatever intel Tavros could provide. You give more craps about actually pushing Tavros's buttons and seeing what'll make him spill.

An even longer silence stretches on and as it does, you begin to panic. Who would refuse your offer? Tavros is a brownblood prisoner of war in a highblood camp. And he's currently sitting in the tent of one of those notoriously bloodthirsty purplebloods--you. He'd have more chances staying alive if he tried to duel an imperial drone than where he is now. A chance at freedom would be the hugest motherfucking miracle and only the dumbest of dumbass bulgesuckers would refuse the chance. And Tavros doesn't really seem dumb to you.

But you don't want to let him go. You want to understand what makes him strong enough to confound your chucklevoodoos. To throw off spiderbitch's mind powers. What gives this lowly lowblood this power? And if he really is so powerful, why the fuck has he allowed himself to be lowered to the stage, weak and injured and unable to even lie down by himself, in your goddamn tent of all places?

Yet you still literally CAN'T MOTHERFUCKING HURT HIM, even in this weak state. All the people you've hurt and killed before were so easy to understand. Everyone on this motherfucking platoon is so simpleminded it's actually hilarious. That makes them so easy to kill. You understand what makes them tick and from there you unravel it. But what makes TAVROS tick?

But then he speaks again, and he sounds firm. "Your offer is very kind and, uh, appealing, but I still have to, uh, refuse."

"You don't believe I'd set you free, motherfucker?"

"It's not, t-that...I really do, uh, believe you, but as I have said, and I'm, uh, sorry for being, r-repetitive, but I have friends, on the L-low Side who w-would be in danger if I, if I told you..."

You frown. Surely that can't be it. "You would HURT, be fucked up and tortured, and MOTHERFUCKING SACRIFICED by a bunch of highblood motherfuckers who hate your guts...because of your FRIENDS?"

"Y-y-y-y-yes," he mumbles, teeth chattering, but the honesty in his voice is unquestionable.

"WHY?" you demand.

"I th-think, f-friendship is reason, uh, e-enough, uh, for me."

For a fleeting second, envy twists in your gut for his motherfucking friends. You wish someone would be willing to hurt for you, to die for you, but you run through the short list of motherfuckers who barely tolerate you in your head and you can't help but think that they would only be too happy to throw you to the wolves if they had the chance.

But wait--who are you kidding. You are a mirthful purpleblood juggalo clown! You don't need that shit, you are too powerful to be hurt or killed and you make YOUR OWN MOTHERFUCKING MIRACLES.

You feel a raging headache forming between your eyes and you abruptly stand up, casting Tavros in your shadow. He looks so small, looking up at you with wide, worried eyes.

You notice that he's wearing a hospital gown that is smothered in mud and tattered, probably from when spiderbitch dragged him outside. He's still shivering and you wonder if he's cold.

In a complete change of subject, you say, "We better get that damn dirty rag off your skinny ass, motherfucker."

"Uh, w-what?" he asks, thrown, but you've already turned away from him.

You walk over to the other side of the tent where you've heaped a pile of clean clothing. You pick out your smallest shirt, a simple black T-shirt with your sign painted in deep purple on the front of it, and a pair of polka-dotted pajama bottoms. You pause, and pull out a clean pair of boxers as well.

You walk back over to him and kneel by his side. You reach out to unbutton the clasp of the sad-looking hospital gown, but when you try to touch him he crosses his arms over his chest protectively and his eyes fill with tears again.

"What?" you ask, genuinely confused as to what you did this time specifically to upset him.

"Are you--" he chokes out in a strangled whisper, "are you g-g-gonna...p-p-p-p-pail m-me?"

You recoil, shocked. What in the name of motherfuck gave him that idea?

Well...you guess you DID sort of bodily carry him away from spiderbitch and claim his as "yours", and then you brought him into your PRIVATE tent, alone, and now you're trying to take his gown off.

It's completely ridiculous of you, because it was a perfectly logical conclusion for him to have come to, but you actually feel kind of stung that he would have thought that you only wanted him so that you could shove your bulge up his motherfucking nook.

I mean, yeah, you're a sick motherfucker, but not THAT kind of sick motherfucker.

"Nah, brother, I ain't gonna pail you or shit like that. Give me a little credit, motherfucker, I got more important missions in motherfucking life than KEEPING MY GOGDAMNED BULGE HAPPY. Like serving the motherfucking mirthful messiahs. The sweet sacred act of pailing is for my motherfucking matesprit only, I ain't throwing my body around like some bitch slut, like Vriska."

He looks dumbfounded, and relieved. "O-oh," he exhales shakily, a minuscule smile teasing his lips. "Sorry, I, uh, a-assumed...You have a matesprit?" he then blurts, and immediately looks away, as though horrified that he had opened his mouth.

You eye him. "Nah man, ain't no matesprit material out there could understand the miracles that all up and happen in this here think-pan," you say. "Ya know?" You meant to state it as a fact but end up sounding more wistful than intended. You wonder what prompted you to share something so...personal with Tavros.

Your eyes meet and something electric passes between the two of you. He's got the look in his eyes that's almost like sympathy...like...pity.

You're pretty sure he sensed it too because both of you look away from each other at the same time.

You take a deep breath. "Just gonna help a motherfucker get his change on," you mumble.

In light of the fear he just voiced, you try to avoid looking at his naked body as you ease the hospital gown off him, but his skin is practically glowing like molten bronze in his embarrassment and it's just making things more motherfucking difficult.

You toss the dirty hospital gown to one side as though it's diseased and then, for the sake of his dignity, help him into the boxers first so that at least his private parts can be covered. There's definitely something wrong with his legs, you realize, but he did say he was still recovering, so you don't fret over it too much. It is a team effort for both of you to haul each appendage into the boxers' pant holes. It is a very awkward affair as several times, his knees and ankles wobble and flop back to the ground as you're trying to move them. You have to help him roll from side to side to get the boxers up his hips, and his humongous horns get in the way when he tries to turn and trigger several of your horns to HONK. He looks positively mortified. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, sorry," he repeats incessantly.

"Don't motherfucking apologize," you growl. He's wounded, after all, it's not like you expected him to all up and change himself when he can barely move.

A voice in the back of your head whispers why you didn't just let him sleep in that filthy cloth.

The difficult process is repeated with the pajama bottoms and he continues to apologize profusely even though you told him not to. The t-shirt ends up being a bad idea because his fucking horns won't fit without tearing your shirt in two. You find a button-up and he is mostly able to put it on himself, his nervous fingers struggling over the buttons.

It takes at least ten minutes but when you look at the finished product, you think that it was worth it. Your clothes are way too large on him; the shirt sleeves and pants are so long they completely cover his hands and feet, and it's like he's swimming in motherfucking cloth. But the sight of him wearing YOUR clothes sends an inexplicable surge of possessiveness through you. You don't remember these clothes looking so goddamn cute when YOU were wearing them.

Whoa there motherfucker--cute? Why does your motherfucking think pan keep going there?

"Thanks," he says, bronze still setting his cheeks aglow. He's playing with the hem of your shirt. "Y-you didn't, um, have to lend me your clothes, and I'm very, uh, grateful."

"Uh-huh," you answer casually, still watching him.

His voice drops and he mutters, "W-why...are you being so n-n-nice to me?"

You don't know if he meant for you to hear that, because his lips barely moved and his voice was so soft, but your sharp ears picked it up anyway. Still, you pretend you hadn't heard it because you don't have an answer, you don't motherfucking KNOW WHY.

Instead, you say "HONK!" in an obnoxious sort of manner.

After a few more minutes of just chilling, you walk over to Tavros and pick his weightless ass up bridal style once again, and once again he clenches his fists in your shirt, desperate for something to hang onto, but fortunately he is not shivering so much anymore.

"W-what are you d-d-doing?" he inquires.

"Well, I think it's prime time for some MOTHERFUCKING ZZZ'S, don't you think?"

You're lucky you've got one of those portable recuperacoons here in your tent; it's not nearly as big or comfortable as the recuperacoon you had in your hive at home, but it is decent enough considering that you are out here on the field.

Tavros sees the recuperacoon and his eyes widen, but when you carefully start to set him down in it he shakes his head rather forcefully. "I-I can't sleep in your r-recuperacoon!" he cries. "W-where will, you, uh, sleep?"

"One of us needs that motherfucking miracle slime more than the other right now and it ain't me, motherfucker."

His eyes immediately start to droop with drowsiness when he makes contact with the sopor.

"T-thank you," he slurs. "I've...never...slept in...sopor before..."

You gasp. "No motherfucking sopor? Not even for your zzz's and snoozes?" You are not nearly as dependent on the slime as you used to be, but you still can't imagine having to get by without it.

"No," he answers blearily. "T-they never...let us..."

For a stupid moment, you almost ask him who "they" are, but then you remember that he was raised as a lowblood in Alternian society before the war, and it shouldn't come as a motherfucking surprise that lowbloods were depraved of sopor slime for sleeping. Your mouth snaps shut.

He is on the precipice of slumber when you suddenly remember something important. "I'm Gamzee," you belatedly introduce yourself. "Gamzee motherfucking Makara."

"Gamzee..." he mumbles. "I'm Tavros...Nitram." You already knew his name, but somehow it seems different, more intimate, now that he is telling you alone. "Nice to...meet...you."

You can't help but snort. "Don't kid yourself, motherfucker. I know you be all up and getting your hate on for one big bad highblood motherfucker like me."

His eyes were already closed but he pries them open at your words. "I...don't...hate...you..." he says, as though barely conscious of his own words, before finally succumbing to the soporific effects of the slime and falling asleep.

His last words make you freeze on the spot, and you stand there, mesmerized by the sight of his sleeping form for a long time, before you finally feel the miraculous zzz's catching up to you too, and you retreat back to your horn pile. You're more tired than you realized and even without sopor, your eyelids fall shut pretty quickly. There's that foreign smell still lingering faintly on the horn pile and you fall asleep inhaling Tavros's scent.

\----------

Not sleeping in your recuperacoon wasn't such a motherfucking great idea after all. Sopor slime keeps dark thoughts out of trolls' heads when they're sleeping--and you have a SHIT TON OF DARKNESS all up in your motherfucking thinkpan.

In your first dream, you wake up just like any other motherfucking night. Feeling abnormally chipper, you whistle on your way to the ablution traps and load gapers (here in the army camps, there are communal ones for everyone to share. It's kind of a motherfucking pain in the backside not to have your own, but war in general is one gigantic motherfucking pain anyway). You stop short when you catch your reflection in the mirror. You are wearing the very clothes you'd put on Tavros before going to sleep. Sure enough, now that you're wearing them, you wonder how the motherfuck you could have found them cute before. You rush back to your tent, and it feels like someone is STRANGLING YOUR MOTHERFUCKING BLOODPUSHER.

HE ISN'T THERE. Sopor slime is oozing out of your recuperacoon and making a mess all over the place but you don't give a fuck because Tavros motherfucking Nitram ISN'T FUCKING IN IT. You check atop your horn piles, and nothing. You search through the horn piles and in your recuperacoon again, and still nothing. You stagger back outside and everyone is just going about their own motherfucking business like YOUR LITTLE BROWNBLOOD HASN'T JUST DISAPPEARED OFF THE FACE OF MOTHERFUCKING ALTERNIA. You proceed to slaughter everyone in your path as you flip shit over looking for Tavros, but various shades of teal to fuchsia get all over the gogdamn place and still you can't find that burnt orange chocolate anywhere. You've killed everyone in the motherfucking camp and your hands and juggalo clubs are soaking wet but you can't revel in this bloodbath, not when you can't find Tavros...

You wake up with a start. Judging by the light filtering in from outside your tent, only an hour or two has passed since you fell asleep. You stalk over to your recuperacoon and your little brownblood is still curled up in the green slime, looking at peace in his sleep, as though he isn't a prisoner surrounded by murderous foes.

You consider throwing him out of your recuperacoon so that you can sleep in the sopor slime, but you remember that he's spent nine-and-a-half sweeps without a lick of the miraculous stuff and it makes you feel pretty motherfucking ashamed that you can't get through one day without it. Almighty highblood indeed. You wipe purple sweat from your forehead and trudge back to your horn pile.

You dream about carrying Tavros back into your tent just as you had the night before, but in your dream Tavros is kicking and screaming, cursing up a riot that would even make the mirthful messiahs raise their motherfucking eyebrows. You end up dumping him on the floor with no qualms and dragging him by the horns. "Let go of me, you sick fuck, let go! How dare you touch my horns? I'll tear your fucking head off your neck once I get my hands on you..." he screeches. Once you arrive in the privacy of your tent, he thrusts a bucket, of all damned things, in your face, and snarls, saliva positively dripping from his lips in a feral way, "Pail me, you fucking sicko. Put your nasty writhing bulge up my shitblood nook like you want to." You tear the awful hospital gown off of him without hesitation, but to your horror there is purple genetic material oozing out of his motherfucking miracle organs, and when you look at his skin it is flushed not with that warm bronze but with the same purple color as your blood, and it looks disgusting on him--

You jolt awake with a loud gasp, and without much thought you rush over to your recuperacoon, where Tavros is still dead to the world in his slumber. You can see the brown tinge of his skin clearly and you let out a relieved huff you didn't know you were holding.

"That weren't the real motherfucking Tavros," you mumble to yourself. Tavros is polite and careful, not vulgar and crass like that dream you had...right? Again, you ask yourself why the fuck do you care?

You don't even make it back to the horn pile, you just fall right the fuck back to sleep in the middle of the cold motherfucking floor. You have a similar dream about carrying your little brownblood back into your tent, but in a stunning reverse of your previous dream, this Tavros is terrified and constantly shies away from your touch. He keeps whimpering and giving soft little screams and before long you are pretty motherfucking annoyed. You toss him onto your horn pile and he immediately scampers away from you and refuses to look into your eyes. You make him the same offer about setting him free, and he doesn't even hesitate before jumping up and exclaiming, "Yes! Please! I'll tell you anything! Please just don't hurt me, please just let me go!"

The fact that he doesn't stop to consider putting his Low Side friends in danger pisses you the fuck off for some reason and you reach over and grab each of his bull horns with each of your hands. You pull them out of his skull while he screams and pleads and soon his brains are scattered all over the floor and his brown blood is staining your hair and your clothes and your hands.

"Motherfuck!" you yell, waking up. The urge to MOTHERFUCKING KILL YOUR LITTLE BROWNBLOOD is so POWERFUL that you are running the few steps to your recuperacoon, ready to pull him out and DO THE DIRTY DEED.

But then you see him, STILL getting his fucking sleep on, in peace, and you halt.

It was so easy to hurt him, to kill him, in your dreams, when he wasn't acting like himself. But seeing, hearing, even just thinking about the REAL him makes you stop in your tracks.

All the motherfuckers you killed before had some quality that made you think you were JUSTIFIED in killing them. They were full of hate, or they were selfish, or they were motherfucking disrespectful toward you and the motherfucking mirthful messiahs, or they were liars, or they tried to hurt you. But Tavros hasn't done any of those things. He hasn't laid a finger on you (or likely anyone else, for that matter), he hasn't been anything but painfully honest, nothing but polite, though slightly hesitant, and his willing sacrifice for his friends makes him the most selfless (and foolish) motherfucker you've ever met. And he doesn't motherfucking hate you, he said so himself, even though he has more reason to than any of the motherfuckers you murdered before. He actually LOOKED IN YOU THE EYE when you were talking to him and didn't COWER AWAY FROM YOU LIKE YOU WERE SOMETHING VILE, even though you are.

And when he looks at you with those sympathetic, understanding eyes and talks of things such as friendship, you almost forget the mirthful messiahs and almost start to believe...in the existence of pity and love.

"WHAT THE MOTHERFUCK ARE YOU DOING TO ME, TAV?" you scream at his unconscious form.

This isn't the way things are supposed to be. People mistreat you, and you kill them. YOU ARE A HIGHBLOOD. He is a lowblood. YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO FEEL WEAK THINGS LIKE MOTHERFUCKING PITY. He is not supposed to make you not want to kill him. YOU HAVE TO KILL HIM. You have to. YOU ARE A HIGHBLOOD. He is a lowblood. THAT SHOULD BE REASON ENOUGH.

There is still light outside but you don't bother going back to sleep. Instead, you sit yourself down next to your recuperacoon and watch him breathe in, out, in, out.

You chuckle. "Don't worry, TAV. I'll find one of your dirty secrets. I'LL DIG DEEP INTO YOUR MOTHERFUCKING THINKPAN LIKE A GREEDY PIRATE DIGS FOR TREASURE. And when I do, you won't fucking dare say that you don't hate me. YOU'LL BE CURSING GAMZEE MOTHERFUCKING MAKARA WITH YOUR DYING BREATH. They all do. THEN I'LL KILL YOU AND YOU WON'T MOTHERFUCKING MAKE ME THINK OF PITY WHEN I DO."

HahahahahaHAHAHAHA. Honk honk.

\--> BE TAVROS NITRAM

You wake up before your opening your eyes and you keep them closed because you don't want this to end. In your sleepy consciousness you can't quite place where exactly you are but you don't remember the last time you felt this relaxed. Your dreams usually end with you gasping in terror and your bloodpusher pounding, but you just woke up from a pleasant dream about Pupa Pan and flying and your breathing is even and your bloodpusher steady. Now that you are awake, your back is still hurting like crazy, and your legs are still worryingly numb, but your head feels light and free for once, and it almost makes you smile.

The details about your situation come back to you slowly. You were captured by highbloods. Oh dear. Your back hurts because you were shot. Ouch. You are sleeping in sopor slime because...Um.

Things weren't as bad as you expected...at first. You were absolutely scared shitless when you realized that you weren't dead, but had been taken by the highbloods. The fuchsiablooded troll who took care of you, who'd introduced herself as Feferi, was softspoken and kind, and you realized after a while that she was tending to you in her own tent, which made you feel simultaneously grateful and embarrassed. You were surprised that a highblood of her social stature would even deign to look at you, but she did. You didn't see anyone besides her for those few days, and you're pretty sure she was keeping you on sedatives because you weren't ever conscious for very long to have any semblance of a conversation with her. When you were conscious, however, you noticed that Feferi's tent alone had much better facilities than an entire lowblood army camp, and your heart ached for your friends. You hoped Karkat, Nepeta, Kanaya, Sollux, and Aradia were okay. You wonder what Aradia was screaming about when you last saw her. Did they know what happened to you?

Then, yesterday...yesterday evening a blueblooded female stormed into Feferi's tent while Feferi was away. She looked kind of familiar. She told you her name was Vriska Serket and before you could respond, she was dragging you off the bed and out of Feferi's tent, and even though everything hurt so bad, this was the highblood treatment you were really expecting so you bit back our tears and tried to shut everything out. And if you were honest with yourself, the jeering comments from the surrounding highbloods, laughing at the "useless, ugly shitblood" that you were hurt even more than any physical injury ever would.

You pretended that you were Pupa Pan and had been captured by pirates. Of course pirates would say crass things like that, right?

Vriska asked you to give up intel on the Low Side, and you knew that one of the reasons it was so hard to find the Low Side was because the High Side's electronic communications had been hacked, allowing the Low Side to avoid the High Side's movements. You couldn't undo all of Sollux's efforts by telling her, so you pushed, pushed, pushed her out of your mind and said "N-no."

Everything went by so quickly until you saw HIM. The purpleblood. You were horrified by the rainbowsplatter when he killed a bunch of trolls just to get them out of the way but you were also too fixated HIS presence to care.

Gamzee, you remind yourself. He told you his name.

When you first met when you were naked and cold and scared and only seven-and-something sweeps old, you never dreamed that you would cross paths with him again. You never imagined he would say "motherfucker" so much. You never imagined his voice to be a growling, lilting baritone. You never imagined that he would run his tongue over his lips and overly sharp teeth every time before he spoke.

And you never imagined the odd considerateness he would display for you, the soft touch of awkward hands that had obviously hurt things much more often than they had cared for things. He didn't make fun of you or comment on your uselessness. He spoke to you and treated you in a gruff but concerned manner that even your lowblood comrades had never shown to you before, not even Nepeta or Aradia. You really want to run and hide in a hole when you think of the way he patiently put HIS clothes on you--but you can't really move your legs right now so that would be, uh, impossible. And then when he let you sleep in his recuperacoon...

A purpleblood sharing clothes and sopor with a rustblood is practically treason. And now it's so much harder to think of him as a highblood than just as Gamzee.

You open your eyes a crack, wondering what surprises, whether bad or utterly horrific, await you tonight. You are not prepared for the sight of purple eyes, blown wide open, not even an inch away from your face. Well, the first surprise of the night certainly came much sooner than you would have preferred. "Ah!" you yell, more in shock than anything else.

"Took you motherfucking LONG ENOUGH, TAV. I've been waiting ALL DAY for you to get your wakefulness on." He picks you up out of the recuperacoon and sets you on the floor, and you yell again in surprise.

"Why are you motherfucking yelling, Tav?" he asks, baring his teeth. "Are you SCARED?"

Your bloodpusher is going a million miles a minute, but that's probably because of how unexpected everything is. Is he scaring you right now? Hell yes. What happened to the Gamzee of last night? Maybe this is the infamous unpredictability of the purplebloods.

But you can't ignore the careful way he picked you up out of the recuperacoon and set you on the floor without jostling you once, despite the deranged state of his current demeanor. So you swallow and say, "I am a b-bit surprised, well, actually I am uh, very surprised, b-but I am not s-scared."

"Yeah? Well, you KNOW WHAT, MOTHERFUCKER? You should be."

He paces around, unable to stand still, and you are helpless to do anything but sit there.

His hands fly to his wild hair and he looks desperate. "Why can't I motherfucking kill you, Tav?"

You swallow, confused. "Uh, I'm sure you, could, uh, I mean, you are big and powerful and strong--"

"STOP," he growls, and you are only too happy to shut up. He stops pacing and envelopes you with his long, tall shadow. "You said spiderbitch all up in your mind was powerful, didn't you?"

You nod, unsure if he wants you to speak.

"But YOU MOTHERFUCKING RESISTED HER," he continues. "Do you think you can resist me?"

You shudder, thinking immediately about his chucklevoodoos. I mean, if he wants to coerce you to give up intel, you're going to have to have to try to resist him, but chucklevoodoos are the High Side's most deadly weapon. Can you, pathetic little brownblood Tavros Nitram, withstand them? "I d-don't know," you answer honestly.

He gives you a feral smile. "Brother, I'm gonna dig out your WORST MOTHERFUCKING MEMORY and I'm gonna replay it, over and over, until you go coocoo like a motherfucking owl," he spits in your face, "and beg me to motherfucking kill you."

"O-okay," you whisper, because you can tell that he is really serious this time, and now you really are scared.

"I'll make you HATE ME SO MOTHERFUCKING BAD, TAVBRO," he half-snarls, half-shouts.

You try to cling onto some shred of reality to brace yourself for the oncoming horror, and you fixate upon the fact that he called you "Tavbro", which is weirdly affectionate, and the sad look in his eyes.

The same look that he had when you asked him about matespritship last night.

The sad lonely look that looks so painfully like yourself when you look in the mirror--

He forces himself into your mind, and it feels like he's cutting through your thinkpan with a chainsaw, tearing your memories and hopes and fears and dreams into shredded, bloody bits, shoving them aside and jamming them up in corners of your head, and you scream, scream, scream--

With chilling abruptness, he settles on one memory, which resurfaces before your eyes with startling, cold clarity, and oh, the irony that he would choose this one.

You are reliving the memory, and even though you already know what's going to happen, you can't control any of your actions. There are naked, smelly, sweaty, and shivering brownblood bodies being pushed and shoved everywhere and you are among them. The cheering highblood crowd is so loud and you want to cover your ears but you can't. Pain fills your head when someone knocks into your horn and there it is, the poor soul who was so unlucky as to be close enough to your horns as to get knocked down, and just like last time, there is nothing you can do as he is trampled to a painful, humiliating death. You feel wetness on your cheeks even though you don't remember crying when this happened--well, apparently you did cry. You scream at yourself to move but this  
is a memory and nothing can be changed, so you kneel there, chanting "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," to the dead brownblood whose name you didn't know, whose name you still don't know. And you know what's coming next--

The hand that grabs you and whirls you around feels familiar this time, because it is the same one one that dressed you and carried you. You don't see an unfamiliar purpleblood face but you see Gamzee, several sweeps younger but still the same, tall and beautiful in his face-painted glory, and lo and behold, now that you are paying attention, you wonder how you could have thought he looked expressionless and unreadable, because he had that sad, lonely look in his eyes back then, too--then the crowd blocks him from your view and you are shuffled onwards even though you want to call out to him--

You are thrust back into reality, and the suddenness is so  
dizzying that you can't do anything but sit there, panting, trying to catch your breath. Your head is pounding and this time, it really does feel like you have just woken up from a soporless sleep.

When your breath calms down a little, you realize that you are not the only who seems to be trying to recover from the ordeal. Tentatively, you lift your eyes, and Gamzee is staring at you as though he has never seen you before. He appears to have collapsed because he is sitting on the floor, a hand clutching his chest, and he is panting as though out of breath as well. His purple irises are dilated and you can see strands of his curly hair sticking to his forehead because of purple beads of sweat gathered there, making his immaculate face paint smear, and for some reason you feel bad about that.

Feeling kind of stupid, you say, "Are you, uh, okay?"

The sound of your voice jolts him out of his stupor, and shakily, as though drunk, he lifts himself off the floor and stumbles out of his tent, leaving you alone on the floor and unable to move.

You bury your face in your hands and begin to cry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11/26/2017: New illustration for this chapter https://yzydragon2222.deviantart.com/art/I-was-so-WORRI-ED-about-you-glub-glub-glub-717050542

Chapter 4

\--> BE TEREZI PYROPE

You did not see this coming.

HAHA. Of course you didn't, hehehehehe!

Okay, okay. So you didn't SENSE this coming. The yummy chocolate rustblood, Tavros, that is. And the upheaval he would cause among your little circle of...friends? acquaintances? Whatever the fuck they are.

It's not like the platoon hasn't had a prisoner-of-war before. But it was a long time since an unlucky lowblood had been last captured, and it had been an unremarkable, forgettable middle-aged yellowblood who had easily spilled the few secrets he had at the hands of Vriska's interrogation. It was so long ago that even Feferi and Gamzee hadn't enlisted yet.

You smelled trouble the moment Gamzee, smelling like humid air before a shitstorm, retreated back to camp all by himself after that skirmish the other day. Then Vriska sauntered up to you, Equius, and Eridan, with young Tavros in her arms, and the sexual pheromones coming off of the spiderbitch were disgusting and shockingly acute. You could see the appeal she found in those massive horns and delightful scent and cute face, but all you really expected to come out of it was for her to fuck the poor boy and toss him out, as is the bitch's norm.

Instead, Tavros's presence has caused Feferi a great deal of grief, and her moirallegiance with Eridan is about as salvageable as your sun-ravaged eyes at this point. Good luck to them. Seriously, you love Feferi, but her fish prostitute of a moirail is just fucked in the head, and coming from YOU that's saying something! Heh.

Equius you haven't really talked to that much, because he would surely just spout more bullshit about the holy hemospectrum if the rustblood was brought up in conversation. But he was clearly sweating more than usual since Tavros's arrival, you didn't need to be blind to tell that, and you know what? Ew. Just EW. You are so done with that asshole sometimes.

Vriska--ugh, Vriska. You didn't know it was possible for her to be an even more massive bitch than she already was, but she seems to enjoy surprising you in unpleasant ways.

Gamzee, well. You shudder. You didn't realize he was going to have anything to do with this...chocolate affair, until he showed up out of his tent after what--four or five fucking days of barely showing his face outside? out of the blue while Vriska was playing her mind games with Tavros last night, and you are just glad you weren't in his way when he decided to kill a bunch of trolls and take Tavros as his own.

But loathe as you are to admit, you too have become a teensy bit emotionally invested in the rustblood and you are--well, you're kind of worried for him. You wouldn't wish a fate with Vriska upon your enemies, and Gamzee is actually even worse than Vriska.

And Feferi's admitted to you that Tavros's injury is life-altering, and because of your blindness, you sympathize with him, even though you aren't entirely sure about how Tavros's life was altered by this incident. He doesn't seem blind so that's not it. Feferi had been too upset to tell you clearly.

You used to be legislacerator before this stupid war broke out, so your sense of justice is pretty strong. And you can tell that this Tavros kid doesn't deserve any of this shit he has coming for him.

So. Maybe that's why you're loitering, as unnoticeably as you are able, outside Gamzee's tent this early in the evening, waiting, with baited breath, for signs of activity. Unfortunately, Gamzee's private tent is well-soundproofed, a luxury he's been provided probably because he's so high on the hemospectrum. You shudder to think what's been going on in there during the day, while Tavros has been alone with Gamzee. Oh damn, poor kid. Even YOU haven't been alone with Gamzee at any point before, and the idea is pretty sickening, and YOU are a badass.

You jump when it happens, because honestly you hadn't expected Gamzee to stumble ungracefully out of his tent all of a sudden. You don't go up and lick him even though that would give you a clearer picture of his condition, because you do value your own life. However, you can smell that he is pale and...shaky, like he's seen a ghost or something. Geez, anything that can terrify fucking Gamzee Makara into shakiness has got to be scary.

You exhale in relief, though, mainly because you realize that Tavros isn't dead. You know Gamzee's style: the messier, the better. If he'd done anything to Tavros, Gamzee would smell like a walking chocolate bar right now, but instead he smells clean (for HIS standards, anyway), and the scent of chocolate on him is extremely faint. Mostly he smells like he's been sleeping on the floor, and at this you raise your eyebrows. No sopor? So he hasn't slept in his recuperacoon all day. That's...worrying.

He stumbles blindly (HEHE) to the bathrooms without acknowledging you. You cross your arms and wonder whether waiting around for him to come out of the bathroom makes you a fucking creep. But you decide that it doesn't matter, you already like smelling and licking people anyway, does it make that much of a difference if you decide to wait outside the load gaper for them?

Oh geez, is he a fucking girl or something? You are bored out of your mind. You swear it takes him more than an hour before he comes back out, slightly damp from a shower, with the smell of freshly applied paint on his face. The figurative storm cloud that had been following him around earlier has cleared up and he has the air of a confused little barkbeast. Huh. Never thought Gamzee and barkbeast would ever be a good comparison.

He is obviously in a more docile mood now, so you hop on over to him and give his face a good lick. You grimace at the greasy taste of paint, but you raise your eyebrows. "Makeup, sloppily applied..." Gamzee is NEVER careless enough to apply his clown face paint sloppily (wow, maybe he really IS a girl), so he must be distracted. "Gee, that's a first. What's wrong with you, Makara?"

He frowns at you (he never did like you). "Sister, a brother wants some MOTHERFUCKING PRIVACY in the early evening," he growls. "SO GET THE MOTHERFUCK OUTTA MY FACE BEFORE I..."

He doesn't finish, which is strange. He doesn't normally leave thoughts, or threats, hanging like that. Before he what? But wow, okay, he's more temperamental than you expected him to be.

"Hehehehe, touchy," you sneer, but you leave it that, because you realize that Tavros's life kinda does depend on Gamzee's mood and you don't want to be responsible for that.

Gamzee slouches off into his tent and you wonder whether you should leave, because Gamzee rarely leaves his tent on normal nights, and that may have been his first and last appearance outside for the night.

But a few minutes later, he reemerges, and the few trolls in the vicinity immediately start whispering.

He's carrying Tavros in his arms again, holding him in a manner that is sort of sweet (another word you never thought you'd use to describe Gamzee), unlike the utterly gross way Vriska was...fondling him.

The crowd around is growing increasingly uneasy. Most are too afraid to make any comments because no one is sure what will set the purpleblood off, but the mere presence of a rustblood is enough to incense them.

You are wondering why Gamzee is carrying Tavros, and it suddenly occurs to you that Tavros's "life-alteration" may be related to mobility. You're thinking that that's simply tragic, when suddenly a brave soul calls out in Gamzee and Tavros's direction, "Make the ugly shitblood walk on his own two stinkin' feet!" More murmurs and shouts from others follow this brave proclamation, and Gamzee stops walking, and Tavros actually huddles closer to him. You can tell that darkness is creeping back up on Gamzee's mood like a tipped bottle of octopus ink.

"All of you motherfuckers are making A SHITLOAD OF MOTHERFUCKING NOISE and I don't think my Tavbro likes--"

You decide that it is safest for all involved to distract Gamzee from the comments of the onlookers. Throwing caution to the wind, you lope back up to the unlikely pair, lean over the little troll in Gamzee's arms, and lick him across the forehead. Gamzee frowns at you again but Tavros is gaping. "Mmmmm...do I detect a hint of citrus in there?" you cackle.

"Umm," says the rustblood, just as Gamzee hollers, "PYROPE, I MOTHERFUCKING SWEAR TO THE MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS--"

"Hehehe," you giggle, bounding away, and you hear Tavros, who is wiping your saliva from his forehead, say to Gamzee, "Uhh, it's okay, Gamzee, it was just, kind of weird, and unexpected..."

You definitely tasted spicy chocolate and a broken spine on Tavros back there, and even though you're not medically knowledgeable enough to know the implications of a broken spine, you know that's pretty much the worst bone to break in your body. Still, you can't keep the smile off your face as Gamzee carries Tavros to the bathrooms and disappears inside again. "Tavbro", huh? And did you just hear the rustblood successfully placate big bad GAMZEE? Oh geez. Hehehe. You think you've done enough investigative work for today.

\--> BE TAVROS NITRAM

"Umm..." you wet your lips. "Who...uh, was that?"

"That was motherfucking Terezi Pyrope, man," Gamzee answers you, no longer yelling and the angry frown slowly disappearing from his face. "She motherfucking licks and sniffs people 'cause of her wicked blindness or some shit. I don't really got my MOTHERFUCKING UNDERSTAND ON with that chick." He opens a door and you find yourselves in a bathroom, with a row of load gaper stalls on one side and ablution traps on the other.

"I guess, uh, you could never be, matesprits, with her, then, since you can't, uh, understand each other?"

Gamzee looks at you strangely for a long moment and you berate yourself for actually voicing something so monumentally stupid, but he finally lets out a chuckle and shakes his head. "Motherfucking NEVER, my brother," he agrees.

He walks over to the load gapers and you are grateful, because you really need to go. You expect him to just leave you there in the stall, but instead, he closes the lid and sits you down on it. He then kneels in front of you and looks at you seriously.

"Hang on tight and DON'T GET YOUR MOTHERFUCKING APOLOGY ON AGAIN," he says.

You have no time to question or agree to his demand before he starts to carefully pull your pants--well, technically his pants--off of your legs. Your face goes aflame.

You bite your lip to prevent the apology from escaping. He did say hang on and with nothing else to hang on to you grab his shoulder. With your free hand you help him untangle the pant legs from your thighs and shins until they are bunched around your ankles, and the same goes for the boxers, and you occasionally sneak glances at him and see that his face is flushed, like yours, but in a royal purple.

You really really really hope that you heal soon, because needing assistance to use a load gaper, and having Gamzee, of all trolls, provide that assistance, is a humiliation you don't want to suffer ever again.

"Can you motherfucking stand up for a few seconds?" he asks patiently, once the boxers and pants are off.

You really wish you could say yes, that you were capable of doing that for the few measly seconds he is asking for, but your legs are still completely numb. It's impossible. You bite your lip and look down. "I'm sorry, but, uh, I can't." Your voice breaks at the end and you feel like crying, but no, NO, you won't cry, not for this, not here, not now.

"DON'T MOTHERFUCKING APOLOGIZE." He lifts you up by the armpits off the lidded gaper seat and opens the lid, then sets you back down. The whole time, you can tell that he is trying to save the last shards of your shattered dignity by NOT looking at your uncovered parts. Instead, he gazes deeply into your eyes and you gaze back into his, taking in their rich amethyst hue.

He stands up and gets out of the stall, closing the door behind him, and you hold on to the walls on either side of you for support. "I'm right out here, just call for motherfucking Gamzee when you're done," he tells you.

You don't think you've ever been so embarrassed in your entire life, and you're endlessly grateful that he left the stall to give you privacy in the act of relieving yourself. You finish your business as quickly as you can.

When you are done, you feel like the last thing you want to do is trouble Gamzee again, so you recklessly reach down and try to pull your pants up on your own. You end up losing balance and falling forward onto the floor, and in the process, one of your inconveniently long horns bangs against the side of the stall and the impact reverberates through your skull painfully. "OW!" you cry out, tears springing to your eyes, as you crumple into a heap onto the floor. You feel like such an idiot.

Within seconds, Gamzee has reentered the stall and when he catches sight of you, there is a thunderous expression on his face. He stands over your helpless form and it's in moments like these that you remember how very very tall he is. "I thought I told a motherfucker to CALL MY MOTHERFUCKING NAME when he was all up and done," he growls.

"Y-y-yes," you say, looking up at him apologetically. "I'm sorry--"

"DON'T MOTHERFUCKING APOLOGIZE," he repeats, and you are kind of amazed at how many times he's had to tell you this exact thing in the short time that you've known him. You almost apologize again for that alone.

He sits you upright on the floor and rather aggressively pulls your pants up, and you're thinking oh shit, you've made him angry--

"What if you hit your pretty motherfucking head and cracked it all over the floor like a motherfucking broken egg?" he snarls through gritted teeth.

"Um, I--" DON'T APOLOGIZE, TAVROS, you remind yourself, "I didn't mean to, uh, worry you."

He stares at you deeply again and you are just about to get lost in his deep amethyst irises once again when he swiftly picks you up off the floor and walks across the bathroom to the ablution traps. You can hear his teeth grinding and feel his hands tensing around your back when several other occupants in the bathroom make rude comments ("Strip him naked and fuck him on the dirty floor where shitbloods like him belong!"). He grabs a clean washcloth from a rack and sets you inside an ablution trap, firmly closing the curtain behind the both of you.

He helps undress you and folds the clothes and puts them in a dry corner. You try not to be embarrassed about being naked in his presence, AGAIN. He turns on the trap faucet and runs the washcloth under the water, procures a bar of soap, and starts cleansing your skin, gently. He looks completely absorbed in the act of washing you.

There are whistles beyond the curtain of "Gamzee gettin' kinky with the shitblood in the ablution trap," but it is easy to ignore them in favor of the purpleblood's tender ministrations.

"Uh...Gamzee?" you venture.

"Yeah, motherfucker?"

"You don't have to do this, I can do it myself--"

"Not on my motherfucking WATCH." It seems that he still does not trust you from that little incident in the load gaper stall. He's washing your leg with the washcloth and you can see his fingers tighten around your ankle, as though preventing you from escaping, even though you don't feel anything.

"Th...thank you."

You can scarcely believe this is happening; that a purpleblood is tending to you, a brownblood, with meticulous care in an ablution trap when just an hour or so ago, said purpleblood was promising to kill you and using his chucklevoodoos to torture you. When he stormed out of his tent and left you alone in there, you hadn't at all expected him to come back with what can only be described as a guilty expression on his face, and to take care of you like this. Your bloodpusher twists when you remember that utterly lost look on Gamzee's face.

"Tav."

Gamzee's serious voice startles you out of your thoughts. "Uh, yes, Gamzee?"

"That day...that motherfucking day in your...memory," he says. "Why'd you remember me so motherfucking clearly?"

You swallow, a bit frightened about talking about this subject to Gamzee. "Well...I mean you, uh, you were the first highblood I had ever, uh, come face-to-face with..."

"Did I meet your motherfucking expectations?"

"Well, I didn't really have any, uh, expectations about what a highblood would be like, seeing as I, uh, had never met one, but really I just expected you guys to be, um, trolls, but with different-colored blood, and of course different faces and heights, and uh, maybe horn shapes and sizes, and all that, but even among brownbloods alone, there is, a lot of variation in, uh, all of those things."

"We ain't just a bunch of motherfuckers who look sorta different from lowbloods, Tav," Gamzee insists. "That was a motherfucking Wiggler Sacrifice Day, man. We're the reason you motherfuckers died and starved and all that bad shit that ever happened to you. That's why you oughtta hate highbloods when you see 'em, Tav, you should be filled with the overwhelming fucking desire to kill them like you're a drowning man and killing highbloods is your motherfucking air."

"But I don't think, uh, that trolls are hatched bad, just because they're highblood, because thinking that would be like thinking, uh, that all lowbloods are hatched stupid and that's, not true, just look at Sol--" you catch yourself before you blurt Sollux's name--"one of my good friends, he's the smartest person, I know." You swallow and take a breath. "So I think that the death and starvation and other bad...shit should be blamed on, hatred, and distrust in society, and maybe not anyone, in particular."

Gamzee falls silent for a long time, as though seriously mulling over your words. "Look at where you motherfucking are now, and you still think that? Do you motherfucking like it, when those highbloods outside call you ugly and pathetic and shitblood?"

"No, I don't like it, maybe, I even hate it, when they do that, but I don't hate them, for, uh, doing it, because I am the enemy to them, even if I, uh, don't want to be."

"And spiderbitch? For what she did to you?"

You grimace at the mention of Vriska. "Well, I dislike her, and that's pretty, uh, bad--"

"And how about my motherfucking self?"

"But you've never done anything to--to hurt me," you say.

He looks at you as though you are in need of a mental hospital.

His amethyst eyes seem to darken until they border inky blank. "I ain't who you think I am, Tavros," he says slowly. "You're motherfucking wrong if you think I don't think lowbloods are beneath me, because I MOTHERFUCKING ENJOY ripping lowbloods apart with my juggalo clubs and with my bare hands, motherfucker, that stuff is the MIRACLE SHIT. I'M A MOTHERFUCKING SUBJUGGLATOR. I don't have to see to KNOW that every LOWBLOOD is an unfaithful sinner unto the MOTHERFUCKING MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS."

You can tell he is unwinding again, and you are desperate to salvage the situation before he starts chucklevoodooing you right here in the ablution trap.

You've heard before about the strange juggalo religion that the purplebloods seem to be devoted to, though you don't know much about it, but it seems that Gamzee is particularly sensitive to the topic of his "mirthful messiahs". You tread carefully.

"Well, I don't really know anything about the messiahs, but if it's your religion it can't mean you're bad..." you begin. He actually recoils from you, disbelieving that you are actually accepting his faith, and not damning it to hell. "All I know is that, um, on that day that I met you, uh, two sweeps ago, that is, on...'Wiggler Sacrifice Day', I was really grateful that you didn't, uh, kill me, even though you are purple and am I just, a lowly brownblood, and I felt sad because maybe you didn't hate me, like the way I don't hate you, because you didn't choose to be a highblood, you were just hatched, that way, and you didn't choose, to be a purpleblood who is expected to, uh, kill lowbloods like me...I didn't choose, either, to be a lowblood, who is destined, to be killed, by highbloods."

Gamzee suddenly clenches his eyes shut as though he has just been clubbed in the head and you wonder if your words actually caused him pain. "I'm sorry!" you cry out, forgetting once again about his demand for you to not MOTHERFUCKING APOLOGIZE, "I didn't mean to hurt you, with what I said, it's just, what I believe..."

His eyes remain closed for a few minutes longer and he is frozen in place; if it weren't for the slight rise and fall of his chest you would mistake him for a lifelike statue. You finally pick up the courage to gently place your small hand atop his large one, and your touch seems to wake him from his stupor and his eyelids slowly lift to reveal his purple eyes once again. You can't hold your smile back when you see Gamzee come back.

He finishes cleaning you in silence, but his ministrations are just as gentle as they were before. You keep trying to catch his eye, but this time it seems like he is the one avoiding your gaze.

He is careful when he rubs your back with the washcloth, because your lower back is still covered in a large white bandage. You hear a sharp intake of breath from Gamzee when he sees it, but he doesn't comment and continues to bathe you, avoiding the area of your bullet injury.

After the ablution, he dresses you in his clothes again and carries you across the camp to Feferi's tent. Feferi isn't there, but Gamzee sets you down on her bed anyway and goes to retrieve her from the medic tent, ignoring your protestations that you're fine, Feferi has more important patients to deal with at the moment than you.

Feferi comes back with Gamzee and fuchsia tears are spilling from her eyes as she engulfs you in a tight hug.

"You, you're okay! I was so worried about you, glub glub glub! I thought you were..." she trails off.

You chuckle awkwardly but are extremely touched by her concern for you.

"I'm fine, Feferi, I already feel, less pain, in my back, and Gamzee has been taking care of me..."

"He motherfucking BANGED HIS HORN against the load gaper stall earlier."

You are startled when Gamzee suddenly speaks again, but more than that you are mortified that he would bring up your little mishap. Glowing brown, you stutter, "That--that was nothing! My horns, hit things, all the time!"

Feferi isn't looking at you but is instead gaping at Gamzee, but he gives her a lazy shrug. Finally, she says, "Don't worry, Gamzee, I'll make shore every inch of him is good and healthy, including his horns."

"Bitchtits," Gamzee says, visibly relaxing. "See ya later Tavbro."

"Uh, bye, Gamzee!"

Feferi then gapes at you like a fish, astonished that you acknowledged the purpleblood. She showers you with questions on how Gamzee has been treating you, where you've been hurt since she's last seen you, etc. etc. etc. She looks shocked when you tell her that you're completely fine (though you don't tell her about the chucklevoodoos, that seems like a personal matter between you and Gamzee).

Feferi gives you a checkup and proclaims that your horns are just fine (though she berates you to be more careful), and after changing your bandages, happily announces that you are recovering from your bullet injury beautifully. You are ecstatic.

"Does that mean I'll be able to walk again soon?" you ask.

She hesitates for a fraction of a second, so briefly that you're sure you imagined it. "Let's focus on healing, first, young man!" she exclaims, ruffling your mohawk.

Later, you assure Feferi that it's okay to leave you there, and she can return to the medic tent to tend to her other patients. She is hesitant to leave you alone, because of what happened last time with Vriska. Instead, she has that Terezi girl come and keep you company, and Terezi is no less weird than she appeared earlier in the evening, but she also turns out to be quite fun to hang around with. She is technically supposed to be in combat training, but she cackles, "I can survive without them for a night!"

"Do you mean that, uh, they can survive without you, for a night?"

"Nope! They have no hope of surviving without me!"

At one point, Vriska pokes her head in and your bloodpusher leaps to your throat in panic. She narrows her bespectacled eyes at you. "Still being pampered like an itty bitty wiggler, Toreadork?" she hisses. Terezi shoos her away with her cane.

Finally, Gamzee returns for you and despite Terezi and Feferi's shared protests to keep you in Feferi's tent, Gamzee scoops you into his arms like it's already second nature and says, "Nah, motherfuckers. Tavbro is coming with ME."

You can't help it when you move closer to Gamzee's large, cool body when he carries you across the camp. You feel him tighten his grip around you protectively. As ironic as it is, in his arms is quite literally the safest place you could be right now.

You don't know it yet, but the next few weeks are going to be a journey to hell and back for you.

\--> BE GAMZEE MAKARA

Tavros's motherfucking words follow you around, long after he said them, for the entire motherfucking night. They echo around in your thinkpan and his high, squeaky voice is almost LOUDER THAN YOUR MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS.

"You didn't choose to be a highblood..."

He motherfucking said.

Your name is Gamzee motherfucking Makara, you are a purple highblood, nine-and-a-half sweeps old, subjuggulator and soldier of the High Side Armed Forces. You never had a choice.

YOU NEVER CHOSE to be highblood. Mother Grub motherfucking mixed up a shitload of nasty-ass genetic materials and of the millions of eggs she hatched out came one miracle egg that was purpleblooded you. Granted, if trolls did get to choose their blood color, you don't see why anyone wouldn't choose something way up high, but the fact of the matter is that even though you got the best blood color, you didn't have a choice in that decision.

YOU NEVER CHOSE to have your hive built by the seaside in the middle of motherfucking nowhere. You were a wiggler so new to the world that you don't remember that time of your life. You assume that Goatdad brought you out into the wide open world and chose that spot on the beach for you, and the carpenter drones followed and there your miraculous hive was built. Why, you don't have a motherfucking clue. Most purplebloods' hives were located in the Capitol City, and they grew up knowing their place in society, surrounded by trolls of their own caste and by trolls lower than them. Not you. You grew up surrounded by miles of sand and sea.

YOU NEVER CHOSE for Goatdad to leave you. You remember watching your lusus's retreating form as he waded out into the ocean to "travel". You were three or four sweeps old, you aren't too motherfucking sure nowadays.

You were ecstatic the first night that he left. You stayed up late into the morning, watched movies, and drank all the Faygo you wanted to, and nobody stopped you.

You were unconcerned the first week that he left. "Goatdad will be back soon," you said to an empty hive.

You were worried the first month that he left.

After that you were just lonely.

YOU NEVER CHOSE to get addicted to those miracle pies. You had sopor slime, a pie tin, and an oven. Your name was Gamzee motherfucking Makara and you were gonna make a motherfucking pie. The pie was so motherfucking chill, man. It made you feel so full inside, not empty and isolated like you really were. It made your thinkpan soar way up high in the clouds, where you didn't have to look at the lonely sands and the lonely seas.

YOU NEVER CHOSE for that subjuggulator to take you to the Capitol City when you were six sweeps old. He stormed into your hive one night, completely uninvited, flanked by two brownblood slaves, who were naked and in chains.

"What the motherfuck, man?" you said. "What's wrong with those two bros all up and shivering over there?"

"BROS? DID YOUR MOTHERFUCKING EXCUSE OF A LOUSY LUSUS NEVER TEACH YOU ANYTHING, BOY? These aren't your bros. These are slaves. These are MOTHERFUCKING SHITBLOODS." The subjuggulator pulled out a juggling pin and smashed in the skull of one of the brownbloods before the poor slave even had time to scream. The mud-colored blood seeped onto your carpet. That was gonna stain.

Part of you was horrified by the gory, completely unnecessary death you had just witnessed. But another part of you was awed by the subjuggulator's power. The subjuggulator, who purpleblooded like you.

And when the subjuggulator dragged you back to the city with him, the latter part of you grew stronger.

YOU NEVER CHOSE to hear the mirthful messiahs. They spoke to you of their own accord, and you couldn't help but listen.

The subjuggulators in the city were disgusted by your sopor addiction (and pretty much everything else about you--uncultured, they called you) and they kept you in a prison cell all day and all night to force you out of it. You don't know how long you were in there, because you couldn't tell second from minute, minute from hour, hour from day. You could only tell that your MOTHERFUCKING THINKPAN HURT LIKE HELL and it felt like you were crashing to the ground from the high of the sky and back up and crashing down and up and crash and up crash up crash up crash--

And out of the darkness you heard the messiahs speak to you, keeping you company in your lonely head. They assured you that you lived in a world where chaos was order, and order was chaos. Order was the hemospectrum. You were chaos. No deaths were unnecessary except for your own. You were the messiahs' chosen prophet, and as the prophet it was your job to offer sacrifices of blasphemous blood and corpses of sinners, and only then would there be the miracle of a circus.

The messiahs never gave you a choice, either. They preached and you followed.

So when the subjuggulators decided that you were sober enough to be released from your cell, you proved yourself to the messiahs that YOU were motherfucking WORTHY of being a TRUE SUBJUGGULATOR. And you killed every troll in sight with your bare hands. Including the other subjuggulators. (Especially the other subjuggulators).

YOU NEVER CHOSE to be the Grand Highblood's descendant. You never even knew that you were, but it was evident the moment you entered the city, because his likeness is well-preserved in statues and monuments and history books there, and you, your horns, your sign--were exactly the same. And that wasn't the only thing you inherited--you also inherited his legendary, powerful chucklevoodoos.

They allowed you to feel the minds of other trolls--actually motherfucking FEEL. If a troll felt happy, you would feel his happiness. And all of sudden, you, who had grown up in a hive miles from the nearest living being, were feeling a lot of things from A LOT OF TROLLS. You felt anger, hatred, fear, and obsessions with money, power, and sex all crawling under your skin and fucking around in your thinkpan and it was so VILE that you wanted to silence them, permanently. So you did.

YOU NEVER CHOSE to join the army. Most purplebloods remained in the city when the war broke out in order to keep iron-clad order over the remaining trolls. Being as young as you are, the other subjuggulators are still your superiors even though you are clearly more powerful. They should respect and admire you for your power, but they despise you for it instead. They enlisted you in the army without even consulting you first.

Your name is Gamzee motherfucking Makara. You are from the most privileged sect of society, and yet you never had a choice.

And yet you are now motherfucking questioning that.

Because his name is Tavros motherfucking Nitram, and he is from the least privileged sect of society, and he has made many choices.

A choice to sacrifice himself for his friends. A choice to save them, out of friendship. A choice not to hate highbloods. A choice not to hate you.

You recall that day, even though you haven't thought about it since it happened. What was a such a monumental experience for Tavros was just another passing night to you. Figures. Fear was the primary emotion of the brownblood crowd, and that was unsurprising; some of them were about to die. Their emotions were so primal, so basic, and so similar that their minds melded as one, feeding into your chucklevoodoos like a river does an ocean.

But one mind stood out in its intensity, and it wasn't hard to pick him out from the crowd. A short little brownblood who seemed to be crying over a comrade who'd been trampled to death. And even though the sheer intensity of his emotions was intriguing, it was the emotions themselves that were shocking--because they were emotions that you don't experience often. Grief. And pity.

You see a subjuggulator coming in his direction so you drag him up--to this day, you are not sure what your original intentions to do with him were, kill him, or save him?--and through your brief contact with his skin, you could feel his mind BURNING like the hottest of fires, the GRIEF and PITY, both of which you were so unfamiliar with, radiating from him and causing your bloodpusher to actually HURT. You were caught off guard so you pushed him back into the crowd.

"...maybe you didn't hate me, like the way I don't hate you..."

He said.

Do you hate him?

Do you actually get to make a choice whether or not you do?

Do you actually believe you have a choice?

Do you believe Tavros Nitram?

Your name is Gamzee motherfucking Makara, and you believe in the mirthful messiahs. You are not going to make a choice so quickly. You are not going to be convinced by a shitblood so easily. You're going to need more than this. A WHOLE MOTHERFUCKING LOT MORE.

The next few weeks are going to be a trip to hell and back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are getting fucking harder to write. But it's also exhilarating. Let's see what you think.
> 
> There will be more plot development in Ch. 5. This was some necessary groundwork for character development, and we love Tavros and Gamzee so why not? }Xo)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/4/2017: Illustration for this chapter: https://yzydragon2222.deviantart.com/art/Chucklevoodoos-718445375

Chapter 5

\--> BE TAVROS NITRAM

You are cold and naked as you are jostled along by the brownblood crowd--your horn knocks into some poor fellow--he falls, he dies--you cry--someone grabs you by the arm, and when you spin around the purpleblood's got a murderous grin on his face, and you register the juggalo club coming toward your face, smashing between your eyes, and there is PAIN--

The chucklevoodoos end and you are in his tent again, sitting at the foot of his recuperacoon, and the two of you are panting on the floor, and you can't even look at him, and you hear him get up as he always does and flee the tent, leaving you alone, and once you are sure that he has left, you succumb to your tears. You never want to cry in his presence.

And as always, he comes back for you a little while later, smelling like soap and fresh paint, and he delicately picks you up and takes you to the load gapers and bathes you in the ablution traps.

He treats this like some sacred ritual, during which he also looks at you with desperate eyes and asks, "Do you hate me, Tavbro?" And like a ritual, your answer is always the same.

"No."

You can never tell if he is happy or sad by your answer, so you simply speak the truth.

He dresses you in his clothes and he takes you to Feferi, and at the end of the evening he comes back and carries you back to his tent and lets you sleep in his recuperacoon. You are worried about him because he hasn't been sleeping in slime since your arrival, but he won't have it, any time you attempt to reason with him.

You fall asleep, knowing that when you wake up in the evening, you will open your eyes to a crazed clown face and agony in your thinkpan as he brutally ravages it with chucklevoodoos.

And the cycle repeats.

You don't know why he is so fixated on this memory. The memory of the first time you saw him. He has made you relive it so many times in your thinkpan that sometimes you can't remember whether you're seven sweeps old in a pre-war Alternia, or actually nine sweeps old in a revolution.

The memory always starts the same, reenacted just as it had been in real life. You've watched that poor troll die at your feet so many times that you've memorized the shape of his face, body, horns, and his expression of horror before gruesome death. You still don't know his name. You know that you will never find out.

But when the part comes when Gamzee grabs your arm and drags you up, his chucklevoodoos rewrite the memory, and he always ends up killing you in some brutal, agonizing way. He's clubbed you to death, cut your horns off and stabbed you with them, sawed your body in half, strangled you, and a plethora of other creative methods to kill you. He believes your current civility toward him is based off of your impression of him from that day. It's like he's trying to convince you to hate him for killing you savagely, as he should have. That you shouldn't feel grateful to him for sparing you because he didn't, it was a freak accident, and your brutal murder is how it should've ended.

But you, Tavros Nitram, have quite the stubborn bone in your body, and you do not forget easily. No matter how his chucklevoodoos try to destroy your perception of your first meeting with Gamzee Makara, these artificial visions of his barbarity cannot override your very real memory of his mercy.

But something strange is also happening as Gamzee invades your mind. It is so unlike Vriska, whose mind powers crept into your thinkpan like a spider, making her presence barely noticeable. Her mind felt cold and calculated in yours. Gamzee's chucklevoodoos, on the other hand, are full of presence and if you aren't too distracted by the sickening visions, you can feel the purpleblood's presence, warm and chaotic, wrapped tightly and almost protectively, in a dementedly ironic way, around your thinkpan.

And as much as you feel relief every time his chucklevoodoos stop singing in your mind, you also feel a little lost and lonely at the loss of Gamzee's warm presence, and the latter reason is why you cry every time he leaves.

\--> BE GAMZEE MAKARA

Every time you finish a chucklevoodoo session with Tavros, he doesn't look at you with burning anger, or horror, or hatred in his orange chocolate eyes. Instead, he hides his face from you like he's ashamed of something, and you have to abscond the motherfuck outta your own tent before you grab his chin and force him to look at you.

\--> BE TAVROS NITRAM

You can't tell whether or not your bullet injury is healing. You are in constant pain all the time, but it's not limited to your lower back. Gamzee is still there to help you move and change and get around. You doubt you could move well on your own even if your legs weren't numb. You can tell it's the extended exposure to the chucklevoodoos echoing through your fragile body. Your appetite is failing you and you can see yourself getting skinnier (which is saying something, since you were pretty skinny before).

Feferi has noticed, and you see the way she chews her lip worriedly at you even when you give her a weak smile. You don't get to see Terezi so often, because she actually does have to train, but when you do, her smile seems a little tight even as she ruffles your mohawk (which, during the few times that she has seen you, she has helped you maintain).

Whenever Gamzee drops you off at Feferi's tent, he and Feferi retreat outside, leaving you lying on the bed, and you can hear loud arguing, but it is always too muffled to tell what they are actually rowing about.

\--> BE GAMZEE MAKARA

IT'S NOT MOTHERFUCKING WORKING.

Any normal motherfucker would have cracked by now, but not your little brownblood. He tries to seem "okay" with everything you've been been putting him through, but you can see the way he shivers and winces when you bathe him in the ablution trap. Your clothes look even baggier on him than they did before, and fishsis actually raised her voice at you and asked what you were doing to him. Normally, you would take pleasure in ripping out the throat of any troll who dared reprimand you, but this time you just feel sick, so you don't. You don't want to draw this out, so you ask him if he hates you, every single day. But he always says no, and that forces your hand to keep going.

If only he said yes; then you'd have a reason to kill him and it would all be over.

\--> BE TAVROS NITRAM

The next test for you is a test of the durability of your defenses.

Even though your resolve is often regarded as weak and flimsy by your peers, you can be a bull-headed fortress when you want to be.

After a week or so (in your deliriousness you can't be entirely sure about the passage of time), Gamzee seems to realize that his tactics aren't working, so he finally lets go of your old memory and attacks your next weakness: your friends.

His chucklevoodoos tear into your thinkpan, and as always, it feels like a shredder shredding your brains to bits, but by now you are prepared for the onslaught of pain that signifies Gamzee's intrusion.

A scene sharpens around you and you find yourself facing Gamzee, and behind him is a wall on which the words LOWBLOOD SCUM are painted in shades of burgundy, brown, yellow, lime, olive, and jade. Standing behind Gamzee, lined up against the wall, are Aradia, Sollux, Karkat, Nepeta, and Kanaya.

Wordlessly, Gamzee turns around and lifts his juggling pins, and you swear you can hear your bloodpusher screeching to a stop as you realize that there is nothing between your friends and a bloodthirsty highblood.

You try to move, but every single one of your limbs feels as though it is made of immovable stone.

THIS ISN'T REAL! you convince yourself. Gamzee's eyes always speak volumes in their expression, but Gamzee in this chucklevoodoo vision has dead, emotionless eyes.

But it feels so real. And since your friends are your weakness, nothing can stop the crippling, agonizing fear in your bloodpusher as you see them on the brink of being killed.

But your friends are also your strength. Their friendship is what gave you the strength to brave being captured by highbloods and to withstand Vriska's mind powers. The power of their friendship can help you withstand Gamzee, too.

You know that any information you reveal about your Low Side friends could potentially put them in danger. Gamzee already knows what they look like; he saw them in your mind the first time he used chucklevoodoos on you, back on the battlefield when you were unprepared for his intrusion, and about that there is nothing you can do. But he doesn't know anything else about them. Vriska tried to manipulate you into spilling, but you managed to resist that. It would be so easy for Gamzee's chucklevoodoos, however, to do something like create an illusion of your friends in your mind, and to indirectly extract information from you by interacting with and forcing the illusions to reveal the intel, based on your knowledge and memories of your friends. The only way to prevent this is for you to hide every aspect of your friends' characteristics in your thinkpan. Gamzee is on the High Side, you remind yourself (as easy as it is to overlook that) and you decide that you won't let the High Side get their hands on your friends.

As you observe the scene before you, you remember your best friend, Aradia, and the burgundy blush on her cheeks paired with her chiming laughter, the way you would tightly hold on to her warm hand when you were scared...

You remember Sollux, just one hemocaste above you, but so frighteningly smart, the way his brow would furrow in concentration while his fingers flew away on a husktop, the triumphant smirk on his lips when he cracked a code, the odd lisp that became endearing...

You remember Nepeta, who was always so sweet and caring, and sometimes scary. You remember the grace with which she fought, her sharp claws lethal. The way she would curl up in a ball and snuggle against you when she slept, purring...

You remember Kanaya, who was a respectable middle-class troll before the war broke out, yet never complained about the rough conditions of the military. How she was the tallest of your ragtag band of six but acted more motherly than intimidating. How she'd mend your uniform when it tore...

You remember Karkat, short with a high-pitched voice but with the unquenchable fiery spirit. Who constantly lashed out verbally but always made sure you were okay. His shame and uncharacteristic vulnerability when you saw his mutant blood for the first time, and the hope that lit his face when you said you didn't mind...

You take all of those precious, precious memories, and lock them in a box deep inside your thinkpan, safeguarding them from that warm, tight presence that is Gamzee.

\--> BE GAMZEE MAKARA

Once upon a time, you would have said that there wasn't a secret in the world that was safe from your chucklevoodoos.

You rip, tear, scratch, and hammer inside your little brownblood's thinkpan, trying to access his memories about his friends--their names, their personalities, the sounds of their voices and what they would sound like when screaming in agony--but it's like trying to break through a brick wall with a stick.

You wonder why this is happening at first, but then the answer comes crashing down and it's so motherfucking obvious.

Your little brownblood is still making the choice to protect his friends.

He would hurt for them and die for them, and apparently resist your motherfucking chucklevoodoos for them.

And all the while, you can feel his love and pity for them singing so loudly in his thinkpan, even louder than your chucklevoodoos can sing, and the sound is more beautiful than anything you've heard before, and it feels so good--

In the vision, you bring your clubs down on Tavros's five friends, and behind you, he screams--but their empty carcasses fall to the ground without making a sound, because you still don't know what they sound like, and the blood that leaks out of their bodies is bronze like his, because you don't know their blood color. You don't know anything.

\--> BE TAVROS NITRAM

It worked.

You kept your memories locked away, and now as you observe Aradia, Sollux, Nepeta, Kanaya, and Karkat bleeding brown on the ground, its horrible, it's sickening--but you can tell it's not real.

\----------

You have always been able to commune with creatures, and even when you weren't consciously bonding with them, you could feel their thoughts, moods and emotions. Most other trolls, even other brownbloods who were capable of communing with animals as well, often saw the creatures as dumb and unsophisticated, but you knew this to be untrue. While their thought processes weren't as advanced as trolls', they felt happiness, sadness, anger, desire, frustration--all of those things, just as strongly, if not more strongly.

You've never been able to detect another troll's feelings before; that wasn't your area of expertise. You don't know if it's because his mind is in such close contact with yours, or if it's because he's feeling in such basic terms and so intensely, but for the first time, you are able to feel another troll's thoughts and emotions, much like the way you would an animal's.

Gamzee's is the mind of a predator; he feels the need to mark his territory and assert dominance. When threatened, your instinct is to hide, whereas Gamzee's instinct to threat is to hurt and destroy.

You feel the confusion and desperation in his mind when he tries to pry information about your friends, and you realize that it's because he's never known anything besides hatred and violence, and your protectiveness and love for your friends puzzle him. He's trying to dig the hatred and violence out of you, because violent confrontation is the only way he knows how to interact with the people he's always seen as his prey. But this revelation only makes you pity him. Being on the bottom of the food chain is hard, you think, but at least you have others to rely on. Predators at the top of the chain are always alone.

And even the most ferocious of predators have room for love, you think. Even most savage of beasts that you have communed with protect their families and protect their young. Gamzee is a beast with no family or young to protect. And so you don't miss the twinge of envy he feels, every time he bombards you with visions of your friends in his chucklevoodoos.

 

\--> BE GAMZEE MAKARA

"I'm okay," is the first thing he says when he finishes coughing, hacking pitifully in a way fit to cough up his motherfucking soul, and you can almost hear the way his lungs are rattling, trying to support his frail frame. You dig your claws into your palms because he's wrong, this is not okay.

Your chucklevoodoos were always the workers of miracles. But you look at Tavros before you, sitting in the ablution trap and allowing you to wash out his mohawk. You know that there is only one reason why he is so sick and weak, his skin positively clinging to his bones and dark circles under those gorgeous wide eyes, and that reason is because you have been torturing him every day. No matter how you look at it, sick, weak Tavros is no miracle.

No motherfucker has been exposed to your mind torture for so long before. The usual is a few minutes of chucklevoodoos as you toy with your victim before slaughter. The very most is a couple of hours. Never like this, day after day after day.

The chucklevoodoos always change them. The things you make them see and feel in those visions fucks up a thinkpan a hundred times worse than eating sopor slime could in any way, shape, or form. And you see that your little brownblood has changed. Just not in a way that you like.

And not enough, either, because you ask, "Do you hate me, Tavbro?"

And he says, "No."

You are silent for a little while, but you can't help it when you ask, "Aren't you motherfucking tired of this?"

He looks up at you in surprise, and you see turmoil swimming in his eyes, but you can't understand what it means.

He opens his mouth to answer, but whatever he is about to say is lost to you forever because he breaks out into another coughing fit. Unable to help yourself, you rub circles into his back. His skin is no longer as warm as it used to be.

When the coughing finally relents and he is allowed a little bit of relief, you ask, "What kind of miracle motherfuckers are your friends if this is worth it?"

He seems to have no trouble coming up with an answer to this. "They're my family," he croaks out. "I used to be so alone, because everyone thought I was, uh, useless, but when I met them, my friends I mean, they accepted and, liked, me, even though I am still, uh, useless..."

You are about to contradict his "I am useless" claim, but your tongue gets tied in a knot when he looks into your eyes deeply, and amid the wariness and exhaustion and pain in them there is...fondness? For YOU?

"That's why I...pity you," he whispers. "Because I know what it's like, to be all alone, that is, even when you're, surrounded by other people, and you don't have anyone to call, family..."

\--> BE TAVROS NITRAM

In this new vision, you are strapped onto a hospital bed in a dark room, unable to move. A figure slinks out of the shadows, holding a box of torture implements, and you breath catches in preparation for the oncoming onslaught of slow, sweet agony.

The figure wears face paint, has flyaway hair, and has twisted horns, just like Gamzee. But as he always is in these chucklevoodoo scenes, he looks dead and emotionless, unlike the real Gamzee.

You are prepared to accept your fate of slow, agonizing torture, strapped down to this hospital bed, but as the chucklevoodoo-Gamzee positions a dull knife over your forehead, you suddenly feel quaking fear that is not your own.

You are familiar with Gamzee's mind by now, and the way it feels clenched around your thinkpan. Today, his grip is exceptionally tight but also incredibly shaky, as though he is dreading what he is about to do to you.

You feel the knife's cold tip on your forehead and you reach out to Gamzee's mind with your own, attempting to commune as you would with an animal.

The scene around you fizzes and blurs.

\--> BE GAMZEE MAKARA

It is the most bitchtits thing you have ever experienced.

You feel Tavros's mind gently touch your own, and he seems to deliver a soothing message that says "CALM DOWN," and your hold on the chucklevoodoos weakens.

His mind is warm and soft and undemanding, and you can hear him whispering, "IT'S OKAY," into your thinkpan, and it feels like a lullaby, and tenderly he pushes you out of his head.

The vision fizzes out and both of you settle back in reality. It is a long time before either of you finds your voice.

"Sorry," he says first, and you are too stunned to tell him not to MOTHERFUCKING APOLOGIZE.

You didn't know it was possible to eject a purpleblood's chucklevoodoos. Even purplebloods have a hard time withstanding other purplebloods' powers. But this...this brownblood...

Has just proved you wrong, again.

You feel like you should feel threatened, offended, that a lowblood has overcome your greatest weapon so easily, but you only feel awe. "How?"

"That's, um, how I normally, commune with animals..."

You have heard of bronzebloods' affinity for beasts, but you hadn't really thought about it in relation to Tavros, and previously had always dismissed it as a lousy skill.

"But...I ain't no motherfucking animal, Tavbro."

"I know, but..." he looks away, "I've gotten used, to the way your mind feels, by now, and if you think about it...aren't trolls just a more complex kind of animal?"

You don't know what to say to that and you abscond from your tent soon after, not wanting to admit that you are actually relieved that Tavros stopped you, because you don't know if you could have stood to see yourself torturing him in that way, even if was a chucklevoodoo-induced illusion.

\--> BE TAVROS NITRAM

As torturous as Gamzee's chucklevoodoos are, they are not the part of the night that you dread the most. What you dread the most are Vriska's visits. She always manages to sneak into Feferi's tent when you are alone in there, and even though she hasn't done anything like mind control you, her words hurt.

You are coughing your lungs out once again, so you are too distracted to notice her come in.

"Cough, cough, cough, cough, cough..." she says smugly, feigning coughing in mockery. "Feeling any better lately, Toreadork?"

"Um, no," you reply weakly.

"I'm not surprised," she says. "How much longer do you think you have? I would say two weeks for a normal troll, but knowing how weaaaaaaaak you are, I'd say you have less than one."

"Less than one...w-week? To do what?"

"To die, dumbass!" she says, and she sounds elated by the idea. Your eyes are widening in horror as she continues, "How does it feel knowing that you'll die here, all aloooooooone?"

"Um, it's...sad."

"Boohoo, is Toreadork gonna cryyyyyyyy?" She laughs. "It's okay, no one will miss you. I bet none of your Low Side friends will remember a loser like you. Feferi will be upset that she lost her pet project, but that's really all you are to her. The rest of the camp will be only too happy to get rid of the shitblood, and Gamzee?" she smirks, and you can hear the disdain in her voice when she says his name. "I bet he'll be soooooooo relieved to get you out of his hair."

You open your mouth but your throat is as dry as a desert, and Vriska is already skipping away. "Get well soon, Toreadork!"

\----------

When Gamzee forces his chucklevoodoos into your thinkpan the next evening, you don't feel the usual pain because you are still so distracted by Vriska's words.

\--> BE GAMZEE MAKARA

You can tell something's already set your little brownblood off even before you've touched his mind this early evening. Like something's gnawing on the edge of his thinkpan, like a little bug. You enter his mind and set off to find that annoying little bug to see what's bothering him.

Not a lot of things can make you angry, truly angry, because you are more of the "chill" and "worship the messiahs" kind of guy.

But nothing has ever made you as FURIOUS as this.

It's a vision of THAT MOTHERFUCKING SPIDERBITCH straddling your little brownblood, and she is naked and her bulge is buried deep into his nook, and she is pulling on those GORGEOUS MOTHERFUCKING HORNS of his and thrusting wildly into him, as he cries and pleads for her to stop.

"Noooooooo oooooooone wiiiiiiiill miiiiiiiis youuuuuuuu!" she trills in delight, while Tavros is obviously in despair.

You pull out of his mind and you scream, "WHAT THE MOTHERFUCK? DID THAT NASTY BITCH DO THAT TO YOU?"

"N-no!" he cries out, clearly shaken and eyes wide with shock.

"THEN WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE MOTHERFUCKING MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS WAS THAT?"

"I saw her yesterday! And, um, she said some things that made me, uh, scared, I guess, and I--and I--that was--"

You storm out of the tent with every intention to RIP THE SPIDERBITCH TO PIECES--

Later, you realize that you must have looked motherfucking scary because people gave you wide berth and some actually screamed as you hunted for Vriska Serket throughout the entire camp. You were so angry at the moment that you didn't give a FUCK.

When you saw her, you didn't even hesitate before CHUCKLEVOODOOING HER HORRIBLE BITCH ASS and it wasn't even a few minutes before she had collapsed, unconscious.

"Look how motherfucking weak you are," you hiss at her, even though she can't hear you. "My Tavros can hold his own for MOTHERFUCKING WEEKS and it doesn't take TEN MINUTES of chucklevoodoo time to bring you down, BITCH..."

You are about to bash her motherfucking skull in when you realize that in your hurry, you didn't even bring your juggling pins with you. And that makes you realize that you haven't even killed anybody in a long time.

This reminds you of the time that you were forced off sopor. The only thing that could make you feel that HIGH of the miracle slime was KILLING OTHER MOTHERFUCKING TROLLS IN THE NAME OF THE MESSIAHS.

And now you feel like you're in withdrawal again, but you don't have that motherfucking craving to eat slime or bash in a skull. It's like you've found something new to bring you to that ecstatic high, and that something is TAVROS NITRAM, but somehow you can never get enough to quench your cravings.

And as much as you HATE spiderbitch at the moment, and want to HURT HER, you don't...crave killing her.

She is still unconscious on the ground when you retreat back to your tent.

\--> BE TAVROS NITRAM

By now, you have grown so accustomed to the feeling of Gamzee's mind, you can even feel him when he is not in your thinkpan. He is the only troll you have ever been able to sense, like you can with animals.

The rage in his thinkpan is unlike anything you have ever felt, and you can't help but wonder why that embarrassing vision of you and...Vriska...would set him off so badly.

You start coughing again. As of late, you can barely get through five minutes without a fit of hacking, and you are absolutely miserable.

But this time, it is worse than usual. Your throat burns as you struggle to hold back what feels like a demon trying to escape from your lungs. You cover your mouth with your hands and cough into them.

When Gamzee comes back, he finds you with brown blood on your hands.

\--> BE GAMZEE MAKARA

"...HE WAS ALL UP AND MOTHERFUCKING COUGHING UP BRONZE! HOW COME I BRING HIM HERE EVERY DAY, SO THAT YOU CAN MOTHERFUCKING MAKE HIM BETTER, AND HE GETS WORSE AND WORSE!" you scream.

Fishsis buries her face in her hands. "Oh my cod, Gamzee! Don't you understand? I'm doing everything that I can to help him, but every time he goes back with you, you not only undo everything that I've done, but you make it worse! There is only so much stress his body can take, and medicine isn't magic!"

"I HAVEN'T LAID A MOTHERFUCKING HAND ON HIM--"

"Shore you haven't," she interrupts coldly. "It doesn't matter if you haven't been hurting him physically, Gamzee, you've been putting so much stress on his mind that his body can't keep up. His immune system is deteriorating, because of you."

Her words sting, but deep down you know they are true. "TAVBRO IS A STRONG MOTHERFUCKER--"

"Yes, he is," Fishsis sobs. "Any other troll would have gone insane by now!"

You struggle for something to say.

"What about his bullet injury?" you finally ask.

Where there was defiance and anger in Fishsis's eyes moments ago, there is now fear. You narrow your eyes as you see her try to conceal it.

"He was already motherfucking hurt when he got here, and there was something all messed up with his lower half. And that hasn't even improved at all, like not one motherfucking tiny little bit," you continue. "I can tell how much he wants to get better, Feferi." She looks up at you, surprised that you called her by her name. "He doesn't say it but he hates not walking on his own motherfucking feet. Is that not healing properly either?"

She chews her lip for a while, looking down. "No, that has been healing properly."

"I don't know a whole lot about motherfucking bullet wounds but I do know that you gotta keep 'em clean and bandaged and shit like that. You've been doing that, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have," she mumbles.

"He doesn't motherfucking react when I touch him. He doesn't--"

"I know."

You glare at her. "What the motherfuck are you hiding?"

When she remains silent, looking away from you, something explodes inside you and you release your chucklevoodoos on her.

"MOTHERFUCKING TELL ME!"

She screams and screams, clutching at her head, and after thirty solid seconds you let her go, and she falls to her knees, sobbing.

"He's paralyzed!" she sobs.

A chill runs up and down your body, and you feel the rage leave you all of a sudden, replaced by an undefinable hollow feeling. "Para...lyzed?"

Still on her knees, she nods.

"There was no hope even from the beginning," she says. "The bullet severed his spine."

"His...motherfucking spine? Ain't the spine...really important?"

She nods.

"So what does this mean? When is he gonna walk again?"

"Gamzee." She sounds defeated. "I'm sorry."

"...Fishsis?"

She sighs and gets up. "He can't feel or move anything below his waist, Gamzee. He's not going to be able to walk."

This time, you are the one who falls to your knees in shock. "...Ever?"

Her silence is more than enough of an answer.

You feel like you should be mad at her, but all the energy has been drained from you. "Why didn't you say nothin' before? All up and getting his motherfucking hopes up and shit?"

"...He had enough to deal with, just being here! I didn't want this to...hurt him even more."

You realize that Feferi is probably right, but when you pick him up later that night, you catch the wince in his expression as he has to once again rely on you to carry him, and the hopeful little glimpse he gives his legs when he thinks you're not looking. Those thin, unmoving appendages feel a little heavier in your arms.

He's probably better off not knowing, but you can't bear lying to him. So you tell him.

\--> BE TAVROS NITRAM

Ever since you were a wiggler, you liked to run. Whenever there was enough space for you to do so, you would run as fast as you could with your arms spread out on either side of you, pretending that you were Pupa Pan, flying through the clouds, and Tinkerbull would chase after you. Sometimes you would crash into other trolls by accident, and they would yell at you, but as long as you were running your spirits couldn't be dampened.

Ever since you were a wiggler, you liked to stroll in the forest. You were never allowed in there for very long, but when you were, you would stroll along the scraggly tree roots and listen to the birds sing.

Ever since you were a wiggler--

Fuck.

There were a lot of things that you liked to do. Like wake up in the evening and get up on your own. Use the load gaper without assistance. Put on pants by yourself. Feel your feet in your sandals and wiggle your toes.

Things that you will never be able to do again.

You have always been afraid of dying. Life has never been kind to you, but you have always appreciated the beautiful things, like the stars in the sky, and the smell of fresh air, and the trees and flowers, and the critters and creatures you had befriended, and slam poetry, and the sound of your friends' laughter.

For the first time in your life, though, you are terrified of living.

You loved life when you were a slave, even though you hated being a slave.

You loved life when you were a soldier, even though you hated war.

You loved life even when you were captured and taken to a highblood camp, even though you were terrified.

You loved life every time you were with Gamzee.

But life...as a cripple?

\--> BE GAMZEE MAKARA

When you wake up the next night, you feel oddly calm, and for the first time since your soporless sleep, you don't feel the urge to rip into your little brownblood's mind and hurt him.

You wonder if you're making the choice not to hurt him anymore. Do you finally believe in the words of Tavros Nitram, after searching fruitlessly in his mind for something contemptible and finding nothing, after trying everything to make him hate you, as he rightly should, but failing?

You fall into deep thought, so deep that when you leave your stupor, it's later than the usual time that Tavros wakes up.

You are not sure what you are going to say to him as you slowly make your way to your recuperacoon, but your worries are unfounded because when you get there; he is still asleep.

You remember the first time you let him sleep in slime. He looked so peaceful, and even younger in his sleep than he did awake, which was saying something, because even awake he looked barely eight.

He does not look that way now. His brow is furrowed and he is muttering something unintelligible, and his face is flushed with bronze. He isn't tossing and turning, and with a stab to your bloodpusher you realize it's because he motherfucking can't, even when unconscious his lower half is as good as dead, he couldn't turn if he wanted to.

"Tavbro," you say, but he doesn't respond.

"Tavros, my brother." A little louder this time, but he still remains asleep.

You watch him for a while, and all of a sudden curiosity overwhelms you. What is attacking his thinkpan when your chucklevoodoos aren't all up and in it?

Your powers allow you to observe others' dreams, and you haven't done it too many times, preferring to prey on your victims while they are awake. The few times that you have, however, you methodically wreaked havoc during their sleep and turned their dreams into livid nightmares.

You promise yourself you won't do that this time. You just want to see what's bothering your little brownblood. Carefully, as unobtrusively as possible (unlike every other time that you have done so), you push into his mind.

It is an oddly familiar scene; one that has happened every day for the past few weeks. You see him in the ablution trap, and you see yourself sitting next to him with a washcloth in hand. The tap is running. How is this all up and causing him so much distress?

Quietly, you edge closer, hoping that he doesn't detect your presence. When you do, it becomes very clear what is wrong.

Dream-Gamzee is looking at Dream-Tavros with a look of utter disgust and contempt on his face.

"You're motherfucking pathetic," you hear yourself saying to him in the dream. "USELESS. WORTHLESS."

You want to scream in protest at Dream-Gamzee, angry that he would say something like that, but then Dream-Tavros says something that absolutely breaks your heart.

"I know."

HOW CAN YOU MOTHERFUCKING THINK THAT? you think. HOW CAN YOU NOT SEE THAT YOU ARE...YOU ARE...you're not entirely sure how to finish that thought, and then Dream-Gamzee starts talking again:

"You motherfucking DISGUST me. Having to carry you everywhere, can't even take a SHIT on your own."

"I'm...sorry."

DON'T MOTHERFUCKING APOLOGIZE, you think, but the dream you has other ideas. "Yeah, you motherfucking SHOULD BE." Dream-Gamzee gets up, and throws a pile of rags at Dream-Tavros. "Motherfucking get dressed."

Dream-Tavros fidgets with the dirty clothes for a long time, before whispering, "I...can't, by myself--"

"TOO MOTHERFUCKING BAD, CRIPPLE," you hear yourself say, before dream you stalks away, and once he has, Dream-Tavros bends over in the ablution trap, naked and alone, unable to get out, and starts crying.

It's too much for you, and with a gasp, you break away from the dream. Now you are standing over your recuperacoon again, and in it, Tavros is blearily waking up.

"Gamzee?" he asks confusedly, before breaking into a fit of coughs.

You scoop him up in your arms, holding on tighter than you intended. His skin is clammy and hot. "Looks like my motherfucker's all up and got himself a fever," you try to say casually with a smile, but you're sure it came out as a weird grimace.

"Oh-h," he mumbles, obviously half-asleep, and his eyes fall shut again.

You rush to Feferi's tent, and she yelps in surprise when you enter. You set Tavros down on the bed, mumble something to Feferi that you can't remember, and abscond the motherfuck out of Tavros's presence. He can sense your mind, and even though you are not sure how strong his abilities are, you cannot let him know how disturbed and heartbroken you are by what you saw in his dream.

\--> BE VRISKA SERKET

You've bedded a lot of people in your relatively short life, and why not? It's fun, and it's prime opportunity to practice your mind powers in a private setting.

Some people think you're a slut, but you don't care. It's only because you're sexy enough to have bitches coming at you.

You've gained a reputation for being a rough lover. Everyone knows that Vriska Serket is in charge when it comes to pailing.

What they don't know, however, is that sometimes, you use your mind control on your lover after the act is done, and make he or she say to you, "I love you, Vriska." Of course, you make sure they've forgotten it by evening.

You don't care [that much] that it's not real, because those flings meant nothing to you. You never really wanted those people for anything other than a quick bucket of pleasure.

You've never wanted anyone as badly as you want Tavros Nitram, though.

It's not just his broken little body (and delicious horns) that you're attracted to. His mind is so tantalizingly innocent, yet simultaneously stubborn (how else could he throw off your mind powers?). His voice is so annoyingly soft and that stutter makes you want to slap his silly mouth.

You love the power you have over him. You love seeing his spirit wilt in his vulnerable eyes every time you say something hurtful. You love that you have a stupid petname for him. But there is one thing about him that you hate more than any other.

The fact that he actually listens to you, and doesn't fight back.

And that, you think, is what makes you frustratingly caliginous for Tavros Nitram.

Still, all is not lost, and you're sure that there is more that you can do to make Tavros return your feelings. Gamzee Makara really did put a foil in your plans, though--that rustblood was perfectly YOURS until Gamzee stormed in and took him away. You scowl just thinking about that. The purpleblood never really cared what you did before, and you don't understand why he would barge in when it actually mattered. You don't even know what he wants with Tavros. You're sure you could put the brownblood to much better use.

At least you still have a chance to get under Tavros's skin, though. The stupid purpleblood drops him off at Feferi's tent every day, probably thinking he'll be safe there.

You are loitering outside Feferi's tent now, and you see her depart for the medic tent, leaving, as you know, your black crush alone on the bed.

You know it's risky for you to see him again, considering how Gamzee almost killed you yesterday. You'll admit that you were terrified; you've never seen anyone, Gamzee or not, in a state of such lividness. You grudgingly have to respect Gamzee for his chucklevoodoos, because you have never experienced anything more terrifying or painful. You were honestly surprised when you woke up later that night, shaken but alive, and completely physically unharmed, because Gamzee rarely leaves business unfinished and business for him is outright slaughter. You're not sure exactly why he was so mad at you, but you guess it may have something to do with Tavros. Did the lowblood TATTLE on you? Uuuuuuuugh. That just makes you hate him more.

But a little risk has never deterred Vriska Serket, so after a few minutes, you slide into Feferi's tent. "Toreadumbass, I'm baaaaaaaack! Did you miiiiiiiis me?"

An eerie silence answers you.

Peeved at being ignored, you trudge up to the bed. He is lying on it, apparently asleep, looking pale and underfed. You make a gagging noise. "Gog, don't you look dreeeeeeeeadful."

There is still no response, not even a stir.

"Toreadork, I'm talking to you!"

Silence.

"Toreadork!!!!!!!!"

Nothing.

"All right, fine, fine. Tavros!"

You are getting frustrated, because even if he were asleep, he should've at least stirred to the sound of you yelling in his face. Finally, you slap his face.

His head lolls to one side and his mouth falls open. His skin is clammy and cool.

You suddenly feel uneasiness in your bloodpusher. "Very funny, dumbass," you say half-heartedly, and you bring two fingers to the side of his neck, searching for a pulse.

But there is no pulse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy mother of...what in the world did I just write asdfghjkl. 
> 
> I experimented with a bit of a different writing style in this chapter, because I wanted to set a different tone for what was happening. What with all the chucklevoodoo madness I can see if it gets kind of confusing, so let me know if you need any clearing-up. Mental torture is hard af to describe. 
> 
> So what do you think on a scale of unmiraculous to bitchtits? };o)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two new POVs this chapter! Who will they be? }:oO
> 
> 11/30/2017: New illustration for this chapter! https://yzydragon2222.deviantart.com/art/pLEASE-DON-T-BE-SO-SAD-gAMZEE-717740829

Chapter 6

\--> BE SOLLUX CAPTOR

KK tried to talk to you once when you were working on your husktop and found out that you can be an even more massive dickhead than he is when you've been disturbed in the middle of your work. AA will come once in a while and massage your shoulders, but knows better than to try to talk to you, because moirail or not, you do not fuck with Sollux Captor when he is busy. Yeah, so everyone knows not to bother you when you're at your husktop.

Everyone except TV.

You'd be typing away and he'd come tapping at your shoulder.

"Hi, uh, Sollux..."

"Fuck off, athhole."

"Well, it's meal time and I was wondering if..."

"Well, Nitram, I wath wondering if you could leave me the fuck alone!"

"But you've, uh, been there for two hours--"

"Of courthe thomeone with your attention thpan would think that two hourth ith a long time."

"You should really, uh, eat something..."

"Oh my fucking gog Nitram, you're not my fucking luthuth."

"Uh, Sollux..."

"Now what the fuck do you want?"

"Maybe you want a...glass of, water--"

"Maybe I want you to fuck off, Nitram! Oh wait, actually, I DEFINITELY want you to fuck off, becauthe I'm not an indecithive athhole like you!"

"Uh, sorry..."

You don't know if he was incredibly stubborn or just stupid, because two hours later he would come back and tap your shoulder again. "Uh, Sollux..."

Ever since the night all of you lost TV, you've been throwing yourself into your work with renewed verve. Sometimes you don't get up at all from dusk till dawn. You're not sure if you're just trying to distract yourself from your grief, or if it's because TV's not here to tap your shoulder and ask if you want to eat.

You sigh heavily and get up, cracking your back. A headache is hammering inside your thinkpan, but for once you are grateful for it, as it distracts you from darker thoughts. You glance at the time and realize that you haven't moved in seven hours, so engrossed were you in deciphering the new missive the nearby highblood camp had just received. All for the better, you guess. If you hadn't cracked it, all of you would be dead meat in two weeks. That missive had some pretty important information on it.

AA is the first to notice you get up, and she wordlessly walks over to you and gives your hand a squeeze. You try to smile at her, but you know it doesn't reach your eyes.

"Is the bipolar asswipe finally done sucking his own bulge to vomit-inducing bucket porn on his precious fucking husktop?" KK groans.

"Shut it, KK, I wath actually doing thomething important," you say, rolling your eyes.

"Were you able to decipher the missive, Sollux?" KN asks.

You sigh again. You've been sighing a lot lately. "Yeah, jutht need to give the report to the commander now. There'th thome pretty important shit in thith one."

"Does it carry worrying news?" KN asks.

"When ithn't newth from the High Thide worrying?" you retort.

NP, who was sharpening her claw gloves in the corner of this makeshift tent the six (FIVE, you correct yourself, there are only FIVE of you left) of you share, looks up. "Nepeta will go fetch the commander fur you, Sollux!" She sprints out of the tent. She's been a bundle of nervous energy lately.

It hasn't been five minutes when NP comes back with Dammek in tow. You, AA, KK, and KN all salute him when he enters. You are secretly so tired of all these formalities. You notice that Dammek's arm is no longer in a sling.

He gives you all a nod of acknowledgment but doesn't smile. You don't blame him. You wouldn't be smiling either if you had lost more than half of your platoon and gotten your butt whooped by sickbloods.

"Captor."

"Yeth, thir."

"Leijon says you have a report for me?"

"Yeth, thir, I've managed to decipher the mithive. It appearth that the highblood camp hath dithcovered our location. I'm not exactly sure how, but if I had to gueth I'd say one of their their thatellite droneth caught uth. They're planning to thpring a thurprithe ambush on uth in fourteen dayth."

Dammek curses under his breath. Rubbing his temples, the commander says, "Well, at least we have two weeks to pack up. As much as I'd like to stay and teach those sickbloods a lesson..." he clenches his fists, "there's no way we'll be able to take 'em. Especially since they've got a fucking subjuggulator.

"We'll leave in thirteen days. Make it seem like we abandoned camp on a whim. Don't want them to think that we were prepared for their attack."

"Underthtood, thir."

"Good work, Captor. Anyway, is there any way you could show me exactly where the sickblood camp is situated? So we know which direction they'll be coming from?"

"Of courthe, thir." You turn back to your husktop and open the map application. It displays a rudimentary image of the general area within a twenty-mile radius. "Thith ith uth right here." You point to the image of the clearing in which your platoon has currently set up camp. On the map, the area is riddled with colored dots ranging from burgundy to jade. Each of those dots represents an electronic device belonging to a Low Side soldier, and the dot color represents their blood color. You then use the zoom tool to focus on an area about ten miles away. "The highbloodth have thet up camp in thith cave about ten mileth wetht of here." The cave in question is riddled with pink dots. "Each of these pink dotth ith a huthktop or palmhuthk belonging to one of the High Thide people," you explain. "I uthed a GP-eth locator to thituate them, and that'th how I wath able to figure out the location of their camp." You zoom in even further on the image of their camp. "Bathed on the number of deviceth there are, I would ethtimate that there are approximately one-hundred people on thith platoon--holy SHIT!"

Everyone in the tent jumps at your outburst, but you are too distracted to care.

You've just spotted a brown dot amidst the pink ones, and you scroll your mouse over it.

Deviice No. 17778  
Deviice Type: PALMHU2K  
Owner: TAVRO2 NIITRAM, TWELFTH IINFANTRY DIIVII2IION  
Pe2terchum Handle: adiio2toreador  
Blood: BROWN

"Oh...my...gog..." AA says over your shoulder.

Commander Dammek peers at your screen. You see him frown as he tries to read your quirk, but you don't give a fuck because it's YOUR husktop, after all.

"Isn't that one of our own?" he says. "Tavros...Nitram...?"

"The one and fucking only," KK spits, and you can tell he's peeved at the commander for not recognizing TV's name right away. "He's only the one who saved all our sorry asses that day, including yours, or is your ass too high up on your fucking horse to remember that? Sir?"

The commander frowns at KK's blatantly disrespectful tone but doesn't say anything. "The brownblood with the hoofbeasts? That one...?" He hums. "What is he doing there? Captured, I presume? How unfortunate."

"How unfurtunate?" NP whines. "But we know where Tafuros is now! Isn't that good mews?"

"If he was captured, there's nothing we can do about it," Dammek sighs.

You open your mouth and speak before you can stop yourself. "Thir, now that we know where he ith, can't we try to rethcue him?"

Five pairs of eyes stare at you, and you feel yourself turning yellow under their scrutiny. Great job, Captor, you berate yourself, for suggesting such a stupidly impossible idea--

"We do have two weeks. Couldn't we at least attempt to retrieve him?"

You look at KN in shock. She is the most logical and level-headed of your group, and yet she seems to be on board with your idea. She's not looking at you, but is gazing determinedly at Commander Dammek.

Dammek gapes for a few moments. "Wha--no!" he says. "First of all, even if his palmhusk is there, considering how long it has been, in all likelihood he is no longer alive--"

"He is," AA butts in.

"...What?"

"He's alive. I haven't been able to reach him, and I can speak to the dead."

Dammek stares at her for a few moments.

"All right, so he's alive. That doesn't mean we should risk everything to save him!"

"Why not?" NP asks, lip quivering.

"He's just one soldier, and not even important--"

"Are you so fucking sure about that?" KK cuts in, and Dammek turns bronze at being interrupted for the umpteenth time that night. "Because even though I think Nitram is a fucking pansy who can't say 'quadrant' without fainting in shock, he's also pretty damn useful. You're a brownblood, and when's the last time you met someone who could commune with animals like that? I know YOU fucking can't. Your ass would be highblood food by now if it wasn't for him--"

"QUIET! I will not be spoken to this way!" Dammek explodes. KK opens his mouth to interject, but Dammek continues, "Look, I'm very grateful for what Nitram did for me, but it WAS his decision. I know you lot were close to him, and I'm sorry for your loss! All of us have lost someone in this war. War means sacrifice, and sometimes it means leaving people behind, so you're just going to have to get over him!" He stalks out of the tent. "We are not risking lives to save one soldier. Who knows what condition he'd be in anyway? Probably not salvageable. That is the end of discussion on this matter."

He leaves, leaving the five of you in a dumb silence.

You glance back at your husktop, where TV's name is still displayed in brown letters. There is a churning in your gut.

"Well, technically he'th right..." you begin.

"But we're the Rookie outcasts. Since when have we given a flying fuck?" KK retorts, and he catches your eye and gives you a little smirk.

You are about to reply when AA suddenly cries out. You all look over at her, and she has a shell-shocked expression on her face, eyes wide and her pupils contracted into tiny dots amid the rich burgundy of her eyes.

"AA? What'th wrong?" you ask your moirail.

She's still staring into space when she answers you. "It's Tavros...I just...heard him..."

\--> BE VRISKA SERKET

You are a fiercely independent person. You absolutely loathe the idea of going to others for help. You like to think that there's little that you can't do, and if you actually can't to do it--well, you'll learn. The idea of owing someone because he or she gave you a hand revolts you.

You don't rely on anyone. You don't trust anyone. That is your life mantra.

And now, you throw it all out the window.

You probably look like a madwoman when you leap out of Feferi's tent and dash over to the medic tent. Thankfully, because of your hard training, you are barely out of breath when you get there. It is a busy day in the medic tent, and the air smells putrid like blood, infection, death, and sanitizing chemicals mixed together. An indigoblood nurse glares at you when you enter. You are known for causing trouble and she is probably peeved that you would choose to haunt the medic tent today, but for once you have no intention of wreaking havoc. "Ms. Serket," she says, "now is not an appropriate--"

"Out of my way," you snap, shoving her out of the way. "FEFERI!"

She is all the way at the other side of the tent, but your voice is so loud and commanding that she hears you. She must hear the urgency in your tone because she rushes over without the annoyed expression she normally wears around you. "Vriska? What is it?"

The words tumble out of your mouth. "Tavros, in your tent, he's not breathing, his bloodpusher stopped--"

Feferi's fuchsia eyes grow almost comically wide and she drops the towels she was holding. The only reason why the other medics do not reprimand her is because of her blood status. Without a word, she rushes back to the tent.

You follow her, your bloodpusher beating in your throat as you think of the object of your black desires. You want to do something, but healing has never been an area of interest for you, you were always intrigued by manipulating and hurting. You know that you're useless to him right now.

You slow down slightly, and ahead of you Feferi continues and enters her tent.

You don't know why you feel the need to let him know. Haven't you been wanting to separate Tavros from Gamzee's side for the past few weeks? But something instinctual inside you tells you that this is not the time for your selfish impulses, that your black crush needs the stupid purpleblood right now.

You run into Terezi and grab her by the shoulders. She is thrown by your rough display, so unlike your usual slick and sneaky mannerisms. "Whoa, bitch, what's got your panties--"

You don't give her time to finish. "Pyrope, I don't have time for this. Go to Feferi's tent and help her if she needs it. Also, do you know where Gamzee is?"

"Gamzee?" Terezi looks utterly surprised, but gratefully, she doesn't question you. She takes a deep sniff of the air around her. "Over there," she says, pointing.

You don't hesitate to run in the direction Terezi pointed out to you. It takes you a few minutes to actually find Gamzee, though, because he is sitting on the ground in an inconspicuous corner, staring into space.

He looks up when you step in front of him, looking dazed, but anger flits across his purple eyes when he sees you.

"Tavros is dying," you blurt to him.

\--> BE GAMZEE MAKARA

You run alongside Vriska to Feferi's tent, and on a normal night you would be puzzled by Vriska's uncharacteristically antsy behavior. Now, however, your thinkpan is curiously blank and your legs carry you at top speed toward the place where your little brownblood is motherfucking dying, as if on autopilot.

Tavros is dying.

This isn't real. Of course this isn't MOTHERFUCKING REAL. This is another soporless nightmare.

But then you enter Feferi's tent and oh. OH.

This image will haunt you for the rest of your life.

Your little brownblood has never looked so far away, even though he is right in front of you, on the bed, close enough to touch.

His eyes are closed and his cheeks are sunken. His arms and legs are splayed out on either side of him, looking limp and wiry. His skin is ashen and looks as thin as paper, and you can see the outline of his skeleton through it. He is so tiny that if he were any tinier, you're sure he would disappear.

He's the most beautiful motherfucking miracle you have ever seen.

Feferi hasn't spared you a glance. Her mouth covers Tavros's and she is pumping his chest hard enough to break his ribs. You can see fuchsia beads of sweat on her forehead, and the pink tinge to her skin only makes Tavros's completely gray skin look more sickly in comparison.

"What are you doing?" you ask, having opened your mouth to question her without even realizing it.

But Feferi is too preoccupied to even spare you a glance, and instead, Terezi, who you hadn't even noticed was there, places a calming hand on your shoulder.

"Don't disturb her right now," she says lowly. "She's trying to bring him back."

"What happened?" you hear yourself ask.

"He had a cardiac arrest," Terezi replies. "Feferi's trying to restart his bloodpusher. It looks like the accumulated stress of the past couple of weeks has finally caught up, and his body just gave in all at once."

"He's a motherfucking miracle," you say, not comprehending what you are saying. "I took the miracle away."

Terezi is silent for a few moments. "We're just...lucky that Vriska found him in time. If it had been a second later..."

You glance at Vriska, who is chewing her lip, wide-eyed. You suddenly remember that you nearly killed her yesterday. What if you had...?

Then there would have been no one to find Tavros here like this, and he would've...

"Is he gonna..." you don't know how to finish your question.

"We don't know," Terezi replies with a sigh. "But Gamzee, maybe letting him...go, would be the best for him."

Her words trigger a loud, painful ringing in your ears, and you have to step away from her.

You find yourself kneeling at the edge of his bed. You think you hear Terezi say, "Holy shit, Gamzee are you...crying?"

You look at his hands and remember the way he fisted the fabric of your shirt tightly in his hands whenever you carried him.

You clasp one of his small hands and squeeze it just as tightly as he did your shirt, but his fingers, icy cold and no longer full of bronze warmth, are unresponsive against yours.

A deep, aching sorrow spreads through your very bones, and you realize suddenly that you finally understand the grief that Tavros felt that day when he watched one of his fellow brownbloods get trampled to death. The grief that sang so strongly in his mind and confused you so greatly. You finally understand that emotion, and it isn't a difficult one to understand. It's just...completely consuming.

You find yourself thinking about death, and you surprise yourself, because despite the countless times you have sent trolls into death's awaiting arms, you've never really thought about death itself. You wonder how it feels. Is it dark and scary? Is it painful?

Do you see life getting farther and farther away, do you hear sound getting more and more distant, do your senses become number and number?

Is it lonely?

This is the thought that you can't bear: Tavros, who lived for his friends, for others, who had almost too much love in his tiny body to carry, who, as a prisoner of heartless highbloods, still managed to find pity for you--meeting Death loveless and alone.

You wonder if he can sense your mind right now. Is it enough?

You almost can't control yourself when you let the chucklevoodoos sing again, and with as much sweetness and affection as you can muster, push in Tavros's thinkpan. You wonder if this going to be the last time.

\--> BE TAVROS NITRAM

You feel yourself floating and you slowly blink your eyes open to semidarkness. You look down at yourself and see yourself wearing your own clothes. You smile as you try moving about, because for the first time in a long time you are pain free. There is not even soreness in your shoulders when you flex your arms this way and that. And your legs--you can feel them! With a loud, joyous whoop you didn't know you were capable of, you kick your legs in front of you, relishing every movement.

"Tavros? Is that you?"

You look up for the source of a hushed, urgent female voice. She sounds far away. Way, way up above you, you can see a faint light, and you feel sure that that is where the voice is coming from. You don't see anyone, but you would recognize her voice anywhere. "Aradia?"

"Oh my gog, Tavros!"

"Aradia! You have no idea how much I've missed you!" You are amazed; you don't feel your normal meekness, the shyness you can't expel even if it's Aradia, your best friend, you're talking to. You don't feel it at all. You're not stuttering and you're not saying uhhh. You feel spring blooming in your chest, you feel...confident.

But you hear Aradia's voice break out into muffled sobs, and you frown. "Aradia, what's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry, Tavros!"

"What do you have to be sorry for?"

She rambles. "I would've wanted to say goodbye properly. I didn't want us to meet here so soon! And we all have--and I have--missed you so much, it's not the same without you--my best friend--how can I--we're too late now and--I'm sorry I couldn't save you, Tavros! You're--you're so good and kind and you never deserved this--I was a bad friend--"

"Aradia, don't!" you implore. "How could you possibly think that? All of you guys are the best thing that ever happened to me. And, ha, being 'good and kind' and whatever is what made me such a lousy troll, anyway...everyone knows that I was hatched for culling anyway, but then the war broke out and in this weird twist of fate I avoided that and got to meet all of you guys, and even though I'm pretty  
much useless as a soldier and I hate violence in general I'm kind of...selfishly glad that it happened? Because you guys are like family to me!"

"And you're like family to us but--you're not useless, Tavros, you saved all of our lives!"

"Then really, maybe that's why fate didn't cull me earlier, because Alternia needs people like you." Not people like me.

Aradia is silent for a while, and you can hear her sniffling, and as is your nature you feel the need to calm her distress.

"Hey...it's okay! Where are you, anyway? How come I can hear you but can't see you?"

She doesn't answer. Not directly, anyway. "How did you...oh gog. How did you die, Tavros?"

Wait, what?

It comes crashing down upon you that Aradia can communicate with ghosts. You wonder why it didn't occur to you sooner. You were just too happy to talk to your friend again. If you can hear her now that means...

"I died." It feels weird saying it out loud.

"Well, not exactly, not yet, I don't think, but you're almost...dead."

You frown, struggling to remember. It's all so blurry to you. "I don't really remember. I think it was...in my sleep."

"They didn't...kill you?"

"Who?"

"Well...the, the highbloods..."

"Oh. No..."

Your mind is still reeling from the fact that you are dead--or, well, almost--but you think about the life you are leaving. A crippled prisoner. You never knew what death would be like, but right now you are free, and you are able-bodied, and you are confident. You would be sad to leave your friends behind, but they're strong...

You look up at the light above you, where the sound of Aradia's voice is coming from. You wonder how you're going to get all the way up there. Immediately, as though in answer to your question, you feel something growing out of your back. It feels weird and slightly ticklish, but not painful. When the sensation stops, you look at your back and your eyes nearly pop out of your head.

"Whoa! Wings!"

You always wanted to fly!

"Um, Tavros?"

"Oh sorry Aradia, I got distracted by something...hang on there for a second, I'm coming, okay?"

"Oh gog, you're coming. This really is...this really is real, isn't it?"

You flap your wings experimentally, and to your delight, you rise a few inches in the air.

"Okay, on my way up..."

"Were you...all alone when you died, Tavros?"

You frown again. "Well, again I don't really remember, but don't worry! I wasn't alone, I had...Gamzee."

You stop beating your wings and hover uncertainly in midair as you think of your highblood...friend. Could you even call him that?

"...Who?" Aradia asks.

You don't have a chance to answer her, because at that moment you hear something coming from somewhere. You look down, and where there is light streaming in from above you, there is darkness down below.

It sounds like a voice. Someone...yelling. "...bro! Tavbro! TAVBRO!"

You are shocked when you see Gamzee's purple figure emerge out of the darkness. He is semi-transparent, as though not really there. He sees you and immediately yells, "TAVBRO!"

You are still hovering in midair when he lunges toward you and makes a grab for your leg, but then he PASSES RIGHT THROUGH YOU and falls with an oof.

You fly towards him and try to help him up, but your arms pass right through him too, like you're a ghost. Maybe you are.

He lifts his shaggy head, and you are shocked once again as you take in the details of his face. He's not wearing face paint. His features are sharp and elegant, befitting of a true noble highblood, and he looks younger without the paint. His eyes are not as big and wide as yours, but they have a slight, regal slant to them.

He looks at you, and to your dismay, big, fat globs of purple tears stream from his eyes like a waterfall, uncontrollably.

"My motherfucking miracle," he whispers.

"Gamzee? What are you doing here?"

"Tavros? Tavros? Are you talking to someone?" Aradia calls, but you are too distracted to reply.

"I came looking for my miracle, Tavbro. I couldn't all up and let him get his loneliness on in a place like this."

"Your...miracle?"

"Tavros, my miracle."

With a shock, you realize that the purpleblood is talking about you.

Gamzee is getting hysterical, and you feel a surge of almost unbearable pity as you watch him.

"Gamzee, thank you for coming to...look for me--"

"DON'T MOTHERFUCKING THANK ME, MAN! I sinned unto the motherfucking mirthful messiahs, man, they gave me a miracle and look what I--up and did--"

He grabs his hair with his hands, as though his thinkpan is in pain.

"Tavros? Can you hear me? Are you all right?" Aradia calls.

"I'm sorry, Tavros, I'm so motherfucking sorry, I motherfucking hurt you, but you can't up and leave like this, I believe in you now. I motherfucking felt your motherfucking grief and your motherfucking pity, all your friendship miracles and shit. Please, Tavbro, don't punish me this way, miracles can't just up and die. Don't die, motherfucker. You're a motherfucking miracle."

He's on his knees, pleading with you as though you're some deity, and you wish more than ever that you could just reach out and touch him. You feel bronze tears streaming down your own cheeks.

"Please don't be so sad, Gamzee," you say, trying to hold back your tears. "And I--I forgive you. I was never really mad with you in the first place. I know the past few weeks were hard, but I felt you hurting the whole time, too. I'm really glad that I got to meet you, I wish we didn't have to be on different sides. I'll always remember you, and really, I'm not that great or miraculous, and I'm sorry for imposing on your life, being a cripple and all--"

"DON'T YOU MOTHERFUCKING DARE SAY THAT DISGUSTING WORD! DON'T! YOU! MOTHERFUCKING! DARE!" His outburst is quite terrifying, because he sounds almost as angry as he was at Vriska that one time.

"Tavros? Please tell me what's going on?" Aradia calls.

"Um--a moment, Aradia!" you call up. You look back down at Gamzee, who is practically hyperventilating at your feet.

"TAVBRO CAN'T ALL UP AND GET HIS MISUNDERSTAND ON, THAT HE WAS IMPOSING OR SOME SHIT--"

"But I was!" you protest. "Feferi had to take time off just to look after me, and you were taking care of me every day, you had to help me with everything--"

"I don't motherfucking care about that, Tavbro--"

"Gamzee, you may say that now, but we spent the whole time thinking that the thing with my legs would be temporary thing. That I was healing and would be able to do things by myself again one day soon. But now, even if I lived a long life, which would have been pretty doubtful, I would have needed help doing things, every day, all the time, for the rest of my--"

"Don't motherfucking talk about your life like it ain't gonna happen!  
You're gonna motherfucking live and you're gonna live a miraculous long time Tavbro--"

"How is that even possible, Gamzee? I'm already dying--"

"Fishsis is saving ya--"

"And I'm literally a lowblood prisoner of war who can't walk." You can't help the little bit of bitterness that seeps into your voice. "I really never thought I would say this, but...maybe death is the better option."

Gamzee stops his hyperventilation and just stares at you, completely still. His eyes are bloodshot with purple, and it's unnerving.

You force yourself to continue. "Look at me here and now! I can walk--" you kick your legs energetically, "and I feel confident, I'm not even stuttering! And I even have wings, I can fly!" You flutter your brown wings, and they leave a trail of sparkly dust in the air, "Like Pupa Pan!"

"That don't motherfucking matter," Gamzee growls darkly. "I don't care about your motherfucking legs, or your motherfucking stuttering, and sparkly wings are cool and shit but I don't give a motherfuck about them either. What really matters is your thinkpan, Tavros, if you die your thinkpan won't be here anymore. Pupa Pan wasn't a motherfucking hero because he had legs, man, he was a motherfucking hero because of the bravery in his motherfucking thinkpan!"

You're taken aback that he even knows what Pupa Pan is, honestly, because adventure tales don't really sound like Gamzee's cup of tea--or rather, his bottle of Faygo. But you're even more taken aback by the fact that his words really do strike a chord deep within you.

"I know," you mutter, looking away. "But I'm not brave like Pupa."

"Bullshit," Gamzee protests firmly. "You're the bravest motherfucker I ever seen. There ain't any troll like you."

"That's because I'm not strong like a real troll is supposed to be," you argue weakly. All of the insecurities that you have harbored throughout your entire life are slowly leaking out.

"No, motherfucker, you're stronger. You managed to throw off spiderbitch, and you survived the motherfucking chucklevoodoos--"

"I'm a soldier who couldn't even kill his enemy!"

Gamzee falls silent, and for a moment you think it's because he can't think of anything to counter your argument. But then he says, "You have no motherfucking idea, Tav...killing isn't a strength. It's the easiest motherfucking thing in the world. Trolls are always killin' east and west, because it's so motherfucking easy and they can't stop." His purple eyes grow a little distant.

There's not much you can say to that, not only because you truly have no experience taking a life, but also because Gamzee is probably the most seasoned killer you know. You've seen him do it without even batting an eyelash. You feel your resolve weakening.

"Tavros, are you still there?" You'd forgotten about Aradia.

Ignoring her, you say to Gamzee, "Even if what you say is true, about killing, we're in a war and there's no point not being able to kill. I was just one soldier on the Low Side who was dumb enough to get captured. My friends...they'll miss me but they're strong, they're good fighters, they're going to keep on fighting and...I already saved them once and I'm...I'm just not needed, anymore."

Gamzee looks long and hard at you. "That's not true, Tavbro."

"Yes it--"

"I need you."

For your whole life, you've wanted to be a hero. To be needed. People treated you like an annoying pest they would have preferred exterminated. Your friends appreciated your presence, sometimes.

But no one had ever needed you for anything.

And now Gamzee, big, strong, highblood subjugglator Gamzee, says he needs you, and you don't feel like a hero at all, but you believe him.

There are a dozen things you could say. We're not even on the same side, Gamzee! We're supposed to be enemies! But you don't say them.

You feel your surroundings getting darker and darker and you feel yourself sinking, and before your eyes, Gamzee's semi-transparent figure grows more solid. Experimentally, you reach out for his hand and to your joy and relief, you are able to touch it. You both look at each wordlessly, and he clasps his fingers tightly around yours, and you return his handhold just as tightly.

"Tavros, please, talk to me!" Aradia pleads, sounding so very, very distant.

"I'm, sorry, Aradia! I can't, stay! Maybe, I will see you again, someday!"

Your vision is getting blurry and the feeling in your legs is slowly fading away, and then you feel heaviness weighing down your body and pain is blooming in your torso, and you feel burning in your lungs and your chest being roughly jostled--

You focus on clinging to Gamzee's hand and tightly as you can.

\--> BE GAMZEE MAKARA

You slowly ease out of Tavros's psychological plane and return to the land of reality. The light in Feferi's tent is sharp and biting in your sensitive eyes. You are still kneeling by Tavros's sickbed, your hand still wrapped around his, but this time, you feel warmth and a crushing grip returning your hold.

"Oh--my--cod!" Feferi cries out, and she is panting harshly as she leans over Tavros. Her entire face is flushed fuchsia, and she takes off her glasses to rub her eyes with hands that are attached to quaking arms. "It--it worked! It reelly worked!"

Trembling, you lift your eyes to your little brownblood's face.

He is still horribly pale, and his features are still sunken and unhealthy, in sharp contrast to the healthy, winged version of himself that you saw in his mind. But his expression is no longer dead and oblivious; instead, his brows are drawn together in a wince and he is breathing unevenly through his mouth.

After several moments, the tight expression on his face relaxes slightly, and slowly, slowly, his eyelids tiredly flutter open and you catch sight of those delicious orange eyes once again.

He blinks confusedly for a couple of times before his eyes wander over to you. He blinks at you a few times as you gape at him.

He opens his parched lips and his voice is nothing more than a scratchy whisper. "Hi...Gamzee..."

You want to say hi back to the little motherfucker, but your voice is clogged up in your throat. Instead, you bow your head and say a prayer in thanks for the messiahs and whatever other deities out there that helped you save your miracle.

\--> BE KARKAT VANTAS

"What the ever flying fuck," you exclaim, after Aradia finished her account of what she heard in that creepy necrophiliac thinkpan of hers.

"He was speaking with another individual?" Kanaya inquires, looking flabbergasted. "Were you able to gather his or her identity?"

"No, I was able to hear bits and pieces of what Tavros was saying to him but I couldn't hear him at all. I can only assume that the other person wasn't dead," Aradia clarifies.

"And then flimsy dipshit was just like, 'All right, later Aradia, see you some other day in the glorious burning pits of hell?'" you ask.

"Something...to that effect," she replies.

"Wait, I'm confuthed," the lisping bipolar asswipe pipes up. "So ith TV alive or not alive?"

"Since I can no longer reach him, I'd have to say he is alive, but just had a close death encounter."

"It could've been a highblood with pthycic powerth that he wath talking to."

"Isn't it obvious?" you rage. "Those highblood sadist sickos were probably torturing him in some dark cell or something similarly cheesily ominous, and when he fucking died they resurrected him like fucking Troll Jegus so they could torture his skinny ass some more!"

"Oh no, poor Tafuros!" Nepeta gasps, and she curls up by your side, clinging to you. You try to shake her off as gently as possible.

"He seemed pretty...friendly with whoever he was talking to..." Aradia says.

"Of course, haven't any of you ever fucking talked to Nitram?" you scoff. "You could disembowel the fucking kid and hang him by his intestines and he'd still want to be your friend while choking on his own regurgitated brown blood!"

"Nepeta agrees with Karkitty, Tafuros was always supurr nice to efuryone!"

"Were you able to gather a name? Anything off the highblood?" Kanaya presses.

Aradia furrows her brow in thought. "I...I think he called him...Gan...Gam...Gamzee? I can't be too sure though."

"That sounds familiar," Kanaya says, which piques your interest. Kanaya was mid-class troll before the war and knew a lot more about people of importance in society's high circles than any of you did.

"Fuck!" you cry. "Why couldn't the dumbass just die like a normal troll?"

You don't want to admit it, but you feel responsible for what happened to your--all right, you'll admit it, he was your friend. After all, you are the leader of your little ragtag squad and he looked up to you more than any of these four other fuckwits ever did, except possibly Nepeta, who would lick your shit off the fucking floor if you asked her to. He trusted you and talked to you, even though you often sent him off with a flip-off when he tried to discuss his feelings and fears.

Yet he was the one who looked out for all of you that day on the battlefield, choosing to sacrifice himself for all of you and the fuckwad of a commander who can't even remember his fucking name.

And you? The leader? You were moaning on the ground like some gogdamn wiggler, too preoccupied with a superficial wound to even pay any of your comrades any mind.

And if the bull-horned dimwit had died, maybe, MAYBE you could have gotten over it, after many hours of secretly crying.

But no, you've been strung up in an endless, unbearable suspense, not knowing what the fuck happened to Tavros while knowing that it's definitely horrible beyond what even your demented mind could ever conceive.

And then you have to ask yourself how IS it that his fairy-loving ass has managed to survive for so long. If you didn't know that Aradia's creepy ghost sense was incredibly strong, you would've thought that she was mistaken in insisting that Tavros was still fucking alive.

You want to say that this is torture, but you can't bring yourself to think that, knowing that actual torture is what your friend is probably going through.

You had zoned out of the conversation, but you are brought back into it when you hear Sollux say, "...Tho now what do we do?"

"Isn't it fucking obvious?" you retort. "We return the favor and go rescue his sorry ass."

"Nepeta admires Karkitty's train of thought, but how will just the five of us manage to rescue Tafuros from a big, scary, highblood camp?"

"Ath much ath I agree with you KK, NP doeth have a point. It'th literally five againtht one-hundred. Proportionately that would be one againtht twenty--"

"Shut the fuck up, Sollux, I don't need hear you doing kindergarten math out loud right now!" you seethe. "It's not like normal rescue parties run around like a horde of fucking circus elephants waving their noodle trunks around begging for attention. They're not expecting us, and thanks to our resident computer genius and asshole right here we know exactly where they are. We'll be quick and swift and snatch Tavros from under their noses."

"Okay, but once we get to the big, scary highblood camp how will we find Tafuros in there?"

You hadn't thought of this problem, and you chew your lip worriedly.

To your surprise, Kanaya answers for you. "I can withstand the Alternian sun. I propose that I enter the camp to look for Tavros during the day, when it is least expected."

"That'th really rithky, KN, ethpectially becauthe their camp ith in a cave, which would naturally shield them from thunlight anyway, during daytime."

"If that fails to work, then perhaps I could pass as a tealblood."

Worriedly, Aradia says, "Kanaya, if you get caught..."

"I know what the risks are. It would not be anything worse than what Tavros is already going through."

There is a small silence during which all of you allow the implications of what Kanaya is saying to sink in.

"Well...that really sounds like our only way to get a fucking shot at this," you admit. You feel a fresh bout of self-loathing about the fact that there is nothing more you can do. "We should leave in a few days, as soon as possible. We don't know how long this could fucking take and we need to be back here before thirteen days are up so we don't get our asses obliterated when they ambush this place."

"Karkitty, won't the commander notice if all of us disappurr together for a few days?"

"Well he can go fuck himself," you retort. You're still upset with that guy. "It's not like he can stop us."

"The chances of this actually working are...really, really, really low," Aradia points out dejectedly.

Everyone falls silent and looks at you with varying degrees of worry and fear. You sigh, feeling a headache coming on. Looks like they're in a need of a shitty inspirational pep talk from their leader.

"Look, guys, the point of this entire god-awful revolution is not just to kick some highblood ass, as satisfying as that sounds. We're fighting for our rights as lowbloods, and no one, not rustbloods, not mutantblood freaks, and not Tavros Nitrams who are too stupid and jittery and selfless, are supposed to be left behind. The bulgesucking nookstain of a commander says we need to sacrifice Tavros, but you know what? He should go fuck his gogdamn mouth with a spiny cactus. Sacrifice is what the damn highbloods do to US.

"They think lowblood life is less than nothing. Do you think, if it was us who had captured that chucklevoodoo bastard of a purpleblood that day, they would have thought twice before wreaking fucking genocide on all of our asses just to get their precious highblood back? Fuck no. They think they can get away with capturing a puny, useless little stuttering brownblood and use him as a torture toy but but you know what? Fuck all of them. We can show them they're wrong. We don't play by their rules because this isn't their fucking game anymore. We'll show 'em that our pathetic brownblood is just as valuable as their subjugglator."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, first off--SOLLUX PROBLEMS ASDFGHJKL. I know there's some controversy about what Sollux calls his friends, and that it depends on his mood and all that, but for the sake of my sanity, in this fic he is just gonna call everyone on the Low Side by two-letter acronyms, all the time, okay?
> 
> Regarding his lisp: I've always had a hard time imagining Sollux's lisp if the s's aren't explicitly written as th, and I'm a big fan of his voice, so that's why all Sollux dialogue is written like this. I hope it's still intelligible. If any of y'all think it gets to be too much, I will replace his the th's with normal s's in the future. }:o/
> 
> Okay, okay. So overall how was this chapter? It was pretty fucking satisfying to write };o)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11/25/2017: New illustration for this chapter: https://www.deviantart.com/art/TAVROS-IS-THE-REASON-YOU-RE-NOT-MOTHERFUCKING-DEAD-716933861

Chapter 7

\--> BE TEREZI PYROPE

A smile snakes its way onto your face when Tavros wakes up, and you try to hide it behind your hand with an awkward cough. The explosive tension in the room suddenly dissipates, as though Tavros's returned consciousness is some kind of coolant.

You're not sure what to make of Gamzee and Tavros's tightly joined hands. Gamzee's head is bowed and he is muttering unintelligibly, and Tavros is just...looking at him, clinging to the subjugglator's hand like a lifeline (considering the mocha troll did just sort of die, that could very well be literal). You suddenly feel very hot. You decide that now is not the time to start making assumptions and that your presence isn't really needed anymore, at this moment. As a legislacerator, your specialty is investigating and analyzing evidence in the aftermath of an incident, but you're not as comfortable with being in the scene of action.

Besides, there's something else you can deal with right now. Like that troll still standing at the entrance to the tent, watching the scene expressionlessly and smelling like frozen blueberries. Hmm.

You unobtrusively sidle out of the tent, and Feferi, Gamzee, and Tavros don't pay you any mind. As you're stepping out, you grab Vriska's wrist and drag her out with you.

She doesn't cry out or say anything, but she makes a small noise in her throat that lets you know that she is surprised. Managing to actually startle the spiderbitch is a rare thing indeed.

You don't stop dragging her even after you are out of the tent, instead taking her across the camp grounds, hoping the ice in her mind will defrost a little bit and loosen her lips. You frown when you have already reached the entrance of your own tent, which you share with two other tealbloods, and she still hasn't said anything.

"This is unlike you, Vriska," you proclaim frustratedly.

She recoils when you lean forward to lick her face, but she isn't fast enough for your wicked tongue. However, you soon regret having done it because of the desire you taste on her.

"Oh geez, are you serious, Serket?" You wipe your tongue. "How are you STILL horny for him after what just happened? I mean, I know you have weird kinks when it comes to pailing, but you just saw someone's heart stop and you're still thinking about fucking him? I mean, if your bulge really is that desperate, there are literally a bucketful of people you should think of bringing to bed before him. I know his chocolateyness is sweet but I always thought you liked the sour or spicy type--"

"No."

Vriska's face smells like blueberry soda (is that even a thing?) has exploded all over it. Is she embarrassed? Haha! "What do you--"

"I'm black for him."

You are stunned into shock by her admission. You'd thought Vriska wasn't capable of taking kismesissitude seriously, considering the complete lack of caliginous interest she showed in you for the very turbulent time for which you two had known each other. But now here she is, black crushing for a lowblood who never so much as raised his voice at her, much less actually wronged her in any way?

Vriska seems to be horrified by her confession, and you sense her eyes widening and widening.

"Vriska--"

"Shut up!" she yells in your face, and suddenly you feel her mind trying to invade yours. Her control, however, feels sloppy, and you are able to roughly push her back out. Immediately, she turns on her heel and storms away from you.

\--> BE FEFERI PEIXES

The adrenaline that comes from trying to save a dying patient leaves you in a rush when Tavros shakily opens his eyes again. Instead, an almost suffocating wave of relief washes over you. You have grown fond of the lowblood who spends his nights in your tent, and it's not just because he's an individual in need of your care. The wounded highblood soldiers that you treat in the medic tent are always grateful to you because they are honored to have a fuchshiablood doctor, and you thought that was normal until you met Tavros, who is simply grateful to you for helping him through ill health and diminishing his pain. He appreciates you for your skills as a medic, not for your blood status.

You collapse into a chair and try to calm your still racing heart. Gamzee is speaking lowly to the brownblood troll on your bed in deep tones that you can't hear, and once in a while Tavros shakily replies him. In the back of your mind, you are astounded by their...affectionate display, having not seen them truly interact before, but your thinkpan is still in murky waters at the moment.

But then Gamzee mutters something to Tavros and then the brownblood turns his head towards you and in a slightly louder, albeit still extremely hoarse voice, haltingly says, "Feferi, I...you saved my life. Thank you..."

You can't help the warmth that blooms in your bloodpusher at his words, and you stand up and say, "Of course, Tavros, I would have done anything to--"

But you don't have a chance to finish because in a flash Gamzee is standing right in front of you, and your throat constricts in fear for a moment when you remember the way he used mercilessly used his chucklevoodoos on you yesterday, but then you are lifted off your feet as the tall purpleblood crushes you in his arms with a supremely uncomfortable embrace, honking excessively while a deep, throaty chuckle rumbles from his throat, and this is the first time you've heard Gamzee laugh genuinely, without that psychotic edge tainting his voice. In the background, you hear a weak, squeaky laugh coming from Tavros as well.

Gamzee puts you down and in yet another quick flash he is back by Tavros's side, reclaiming the bronzeblood's hand as though he needs it to ensure that he is really there. You don't want to ask him to leave but you still need to check Tavros's vitals. You bring it up, and Gamzee casts a reluctant look at Tavros but to your surprise, it is Tavros who clings to Gamzee's large hand and whispers, "Don't go, I...need you, too."

So Gamzee stays, kneeling at the brownblood's side and even though you are in your own tent, you feel, for the entire time, like you are intruding on a private moment.

You check Tavros's vitals, mainly his bloodpusher and brain since he went into cardiac arrest. His thinkpan is fortunately unaddled; it's a real stroke of luck that Vriska discovered him likely only seconds after his bloodpusher had stopped. Any later and...

He has no existing problems with his bloodpusher, and you are easily able to conclude that mental stress and trauma, coupled with the fever he acquired the day before, pushed his body to its limits. You tell them this and Gamzee chews his lip guiltily, but you see Tavros look at him and tighten his grip of the purpleblood's hand.

"Take it easy from now on, okay, Tavros?" you tell him in a stern tone, and he smiles sheepishly at you. "Eat properly and no stressful or traumatic activities," you can't help the pointed look you shoot at Gamzee, "and you should be just fine in a couple of days!"

"O-okay, uh, understood, Feferi," Tavros smiles at you.

You ask Tavros to open wide and he does so obediently, and you feed him a spoonful of fever medicine. He doesn't hide the look of disgust on his face when he tastes it, and you can't help but laugh. It's such a childlike, innocent gesture, one so rarely seen nowadays.

Now comes your least favorite part, and you decide that you might as well make use of Gamzee since he is here, anyway. "Gamzee, can you help me turn Tavros onto his stomach, please? I need to change his bandages."

To your surprise, Gamzee doesn't hesitate before scooping Tavros up and setting him down so that his back is facing up. He is mindful of Tavros's enormous horns (you still have yet to meet another troll better endowed in the horn department), and you are grateful because you always had trouble shifting Tavros into a different position, his horns would always get in the way.

You see the flash of sorrow and hopelessness in Tavros's eyes and you suddenly realize, he knows.

"I'm...so sorry, Tavros," you say softly, not sure what else to say, and feeling guilty that you unnecessarily kept his hopes up for so long. You only wanted to make things easier for him, reely!

"It's okay," he tells you, voice strained, and you can tell it's really not. "It's not, your fault, and you've done nothing, but, uh, help me."

You nod solemnly and pull his shirt up slightly to reveal the bandaged area. Carefully, you peel off the white material.

The skin is already mostly healed (although he will have a round, bronze scar there forever), but you want to keep the bandages for a little while longer since it is still sensitive.

You make swift work of applying healing salve and redressing the area, but you can't help but notice the sad look on Gamzee's face when he traces his eyes over the smooth curvature of Tavros's spine that is obviously disrupted at the point of the injury.

When you are finally done, you are truly exhausted. It is near morning, anyway, and you say to Tavros, "I'd like you to stay here for at least today. I don't want you moving right now and if anything else happens I can be close by."

"Oh, uh, okay," Tavros says. He turns to the purpleblood. "Gamzee, you should, uh, go back and sleep, in your recuperacoon, today..."

"Aww hell nah," Gamzee retorts. "I'm staying right here with my Tavbro. And one more day without the miracle slime won't up do much to this motherfucker's thinkpan."

You raise your eyebrows at the knowledge that Gamzee has been sleeping soporless as of late, but decide not to question it. "I'll be much more reassured knowing that Gamzee's here to watch you, anywave, Tavros," you say. "And I'll just step out and give you two your privacy! Gamzee, just come get me if anything happens."

"Sure thing, Fishsis," Gamzee says at the same time that Tavros exclaims, "But we can't, kick you out of your own, tent!"

You laugh. "Don't worry, Tavros, I have a moray-eel, and he's violetblooded so he has own tent, too! I'll just steal his recuperacoon for a day, it's no big deal."

You find said moirail drinking with the two other violetbloods of the division, one of whom is also the captain. You salute to him (even though you don't actually have to, since you're higher than him by blood) and he nods back. You are surprised to find Eridan with them, because you had always been under the impression that he didn't like them very much.

You almost ask Eridan outright if you can use his recuperacoon, but then you realize that that would raise questions as to why you can't use your own, and it hits you like an iceberg that you can't let these violetbloods know that Tavros is in your tent, because these people would gladly rip Tavros limb from limb and you don't want that. It hurts to think of your own captain and comrades, to whom you have always felt loyal, this way.

Instead, you say, "Eridan, would you mind? I'm a little bit in the mood for a...feelings jam right now."

"Sure, wwhatevver," he says, and he downs the rest of his drink and gets up. "See you fellas later," he acknowledges to the two other trolls. They wave him off, snickering.

He leads the way back to his own tent without a single word to you. As you walk, you suddenly remember the shaken foundations of your relationship with Eridan, which had slipped your mind in the exhaustion of the past hour's events. How are you going to explain this one...

You enter Eridan's tent, and you don't even have to time to think of what to say when he is rounding up on you already, his impassive face contorted with anger. "So, you finally done suckin' lowwblood bulge, Fef?"

You gape at him in shock. You don't know how to respond. "Eri-Eridan--"

"Don't think I havven't realized wwhat you're doin' behind closed doors."

"Eridan--" you sputter, "how can you even suggest that I would--you know I'm always completely professional--"

"That's also not the fuckin' point, Fef!" Eridan yells exasperatedly. "It doesn't fuckin' matter if you're suckin' his bulge or singin' him lullabies to sleep, you're not supposed to associatin' with fuckin' scum like that!"

"He was wounded! All I've been doing is treating him, as a medic rightly should--" you yell back.

"No, you should be treatin' the brave and loyal soldiers wwho are actually on our fuckin' side," he argues.

"I do! It's not like I'm only treating him!"

"Yeah, but you're doing more than treatin' him, Fef. You let him sleep in your fuckin' tent. Wwhat else do you do, fuckin' talk to him?"

His tone is sarcastic and you are stung. "Why wouldn't I--talk to him? What's wrong with that?"

"Oh, nothin', besides the fact that you're basically betraying evveryone on the High Side?"

"It's not like I've done anything to help the Low Side! We don't talk about the war! I haven't told him any High Side secrets, not that it would matter, considering that no one's gonna let him go back--"

"But you wwant to, don't you?"

"Want to what?"

"Let him go."

"No I--"

But you stop yourself. Do you? Since Tavros was captured and brought here, you have been lamenting his misfortune, but you always saw his fate as out of your hands, especially since Gamzee took charge of him. But were you given a choice...would you let Tavros go back? To the Low Side, to people who cause the injuries you treat in the medic tent, who kill highbloods, who are your enemy?

And then you remind yourself that is the High Side, your side, that caused Tavros's lifelong disability.

Eridan sighs loudly and pinches the bridge of his nose. "See Fef? This is my fuckin' point. You see what shitblood scum does to you? They use trickery and deceit to get on your good side and when wwe highbloods fall for it and showw them our kindness and generosity, they fuckin' attack us. They're thieves and murderers! They're the ones who raised anarchy and caused this wwhole fuckin' war! That's wwhy they need to be subdued and brought to our fuckin' feet!"

"Tavros isn't like that!" you counter. "And he had plenty of opportunities to hurt me and he hasn't--"

"Oh, so noww it's Tavvros, isn't it," Eridan spits, enunciating the brownblood's name with disdain. "And I suppose he calls you Feferi too?"

"That is my name, isn't it?"

"Not to him, it shouldn't be. Look, Fef, you're already gettin' attached to him and look wwhere it's gotten you. You're lucky that I care about you and havve been covverin' for you, otherwwise do you think the captain wwould think twwice about sendin' you back to the city?"

"I--"

"Look, Fef, it's really time you stopped playin' around and acted like a REAL fuchsiablood troll."

You feel your bloodpusher shatter, because these last words hurt you more than anything else he has said so far. You feel fuchsia tears in your eyes and Eridan notices, because for the first time in since the beginning of the argument, doubt flashes across his eyes. He reaches out to you. "Fef, I--"

You toss his hand away. "Don't touch me, Eridan," you say. "How can you say that I'm playing around? You have no idea how hard I work."

"No, Fef, I do knoww howw hard you wwork, that's wwhy I don't wwant your hard wwork to go dowwn the drain because of this--"

"I thought you, of all people, would appreciate me for me, and not my blood, like everyone else does!" you cry.

"Fef, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that wway--"

"No, just stop, Eridan," you say, turning away. "I can't do this anymore."

"Fef--"

"We're over." Your tears finally spill out of your eyes and you walk out.

You ignore his now desperate pleas of, "Fef, wwait! Please! I wwas only sayin' those things for your sake! I'm sorry if I was too harsh, okay? I knoww I'm a fuckin' asshole. Please don't do this Fef, come back!" You ignore the way your bloodpusher still twists at the sadness in his voice.

With nowhere else to go, you go to Terezi's tent. You wait outside for her to come greet you, not wanting to impose since she shares a tent with two others, not being high enough on the hemospectrum to have her own. She appears shortly, having smelled your presence.

"Feferi? What's up? Why are you smelling like depression and...rejection?"

Terezi's two tealblood bunk mates are already inside, and you realize that you can't talk about Tavros lest they overhear. In the back of your mind, you wonder if Eridan did have somewhat of a point.

Instead, you settle for saying, "I broke up with Eridan."

"Oh." As talkative as the blind tealblood usually is, she does not make any more unnecessary comments, although you can't help but notice the lack of surprise in her tone. "You wanna crash for the day?"

"If it's alright."

"Of course it is."

You are grateful that Terezi doesn't fuss and doesn't offer you her recuperacoon, because you can't bear the idea of being coddled any further for being a fuchsiablood today. Terezi helps you make a makeshift bed with several blankets and pillows on the floor, and it is actually quite comfortable. Still, you don't fall asleep for a long time, even though your whole body screams exhaustion. You replay the moments of your relationship with Eridan over and over in your thinkpan, wondering what you could have done to prevent tonight's falling-out. And for some reason, his question of whether you would want to let Tavros go flits about in your pan, undeterred like a shark is attracted to the scent of blood.

\--> BE GAMZEE MAKARA

The past few days had been motherfucking miraculous because you didn't chucklevoodoo Tavros anymore and watching him heal up was just a miracle. He is still motherfucking skinny and very much in need of painkillers, but with time you're sure that he will regain his lost weight and lose the pain. He has much better appetite and more energy.

The two of you probably still have a lot to talk about, but for the past few days neither of you have said much of anything. Words get in the motherfucking way of miracles sometimes, and you don't want that. For right now, the simple sentence "I need you" from either of you is enough. You spend most of your time clinging to Tavros's hand and making sure he doesn't let go of you, and every time he loosens his grip even slightly you don't hesitate to YELL AT THE TOP OF YOUR MOTHERFUCKING LUNGS until he tightens his fingers around yours once more. He has more daringly allowed himself to psychically reach out to your mind, and you gladly let him in. He has had more than enough of his fill of what your mind powers feel like, so now it's his turn to use his on you. That, however, is an unfair comparison, because your chucklevoodoos were deliberate torture, and Tavros's psychic powers are deliberate comfort. You are amazed by how different his abilities are from yours, which you know to be forceful and invasive; Tavros's powers feel warm and protective, but peaceful and not constrictive: it feels like lying on a warm, soft expanse of grass and gazing up at the glittery stars. Not even a week ago, you would have thought that such abilities were pointless, but now you know that they are more powerful than anything you have experienced. You can only wonder what it's like when your little brownblood actually communes with animals, because that's what his powers are actually for, and he insists that you are the first troll he has ever or been able to psychically feel and connect with, despite how strong he feels, singing in your thinkpan.

The thought that you are the only one makes you more satisfied than it probably should.

He asks if you need to train with the rest of the army, since you are basically spending all of your time with him, but in truth you rarely participated in drills with your fellow soldiers even before Tavros's arrival in your life. As the sole purpleblood of the division, you are already much more skilled and lethal than most of your comrades, and the captain has never seemed to mind your absence from training, because, knowing your capriciousness, your presence would probably be more dangerous for everybody than not.

You just tell Tavros not to get his worry on.

The past few days have been like a sopor high, like you've just eaten the most miraculous pie and now you're swimming in the echoes of ecstasy. You know you'll come crashing down eventually and when you do, it'll hurt like a motherfucker, but for now you'll enjoy this rare happiness and Tavros.

\----------

After a lot of pleading and whining you managed to convince Fishsis to let you take Tavros back to your tent.

It's early in the evening now, the sun still not fully beneath the horizon yet. Tavros is still asleep in your recuperacoon. Despite his continued insistence that he can sleep without slime, and that you should use your own recuperacoon, you refuse to let him sleep anywhere else. Secretly, you like the way he looks when he wakes up in that miraculous green sopor.

Mail from the Capitol arrived yesterday, and even though you received no letters (who would send you anything?), you had ordered something from the city the very same day that Tavros had...gone on a trip near the deep end (you refuse to think of it as death) and you are expecting to receive it today. The dream that you had witnessed in his head spurred you to do this.

The Capitol mail deliverer is a tealblood who looks at you curiously when he sets down the large box in front of you.  You can tell he was unhappy about having to deliver such a bulky thing into to an army camp in the middle of the wilderness, but when he realizes that the recipient is purpleblooded you, he doesn't dare question you.  You don't pay him any mind.

You drag the box into your tent and open it as quietly as possible so as to not to wake your miracle up.  You take out the contents and start putting the pieces together.  You're not too good with putting things together (you are better at ripping them apart), but it's simple enough and you manage.  

When you're finally done, you smile and admire your work.  Then you hasten to clear your floor, which is haphazardly strewn with Faygo bottles, horn piles, and your clothes.  You shove them all into a corner.  You get up and decide it's time to wake your miracle up.

\--> BE TAVROS NITRAM

"Tavros. Tavbro. C'mon motherfucker. Wake up," says a voice.

You groan sleepily, trying to will the annoying little voice away, but it grows more insistent. "Tavros. Wake up, man, it's a miraculous night." A finger joins in the incessant disturbance and pokes you on the arm, repeatedly.

Unable to ignore it any longer, you force your eyelids open, and Gamzee's face is inches above yours. You had woken up so many times to his face almost touching yours, right before he activated his chucklevoodoos on you, that for a fleeting moment you feel panic rise in your chest, but then you cling to Gamzee's mind, which feels childlike and excited tonight, and not violent. You are awed by the vast spectrum of extreme emotions he seems to be capable of having, and the speed at which he can swing between them.

"...G-Gamzee?" you groan, rubbing your eyes. He doesn't usually wake you up in the evening. He usually allows you to wake up of your own accord. "What's, uh, going...on?"

"Evening, motherfucker." Before you can grasp the situation, you feel yourself being lifted out of the recuperacoon into Gamzee's arms. Then he is already striding out of the tent on his long legs.

He takes you to the bathroom for evening ablutions and you can tell he is in a hurry to finish. His excitable mood is able to distract you, slightly, from the utter uselessness of your legs. You've been trying not to think about it too much, and Gamzee is always your best distraction.

It must be early, because there is barely anyone else in the bathroom stalls or out and about in the camp, and the ones who are out seem too groggy to pay you and Gamzee too much mind. You are relieved, because you are never safe from the highbloods' terrifying words when you're not in the safety of Gamzee's or Feferi's tent.

There's a spring in Gamzee's step as he carries you back to his tent, and just when the two of you are right outside of it, he says, "Tavbro, could you all up and do a motherfucker a favor and close your miraculous eyes for a moment?"

"Uh, sure, but uh, that is a rather, strange request, why would you want me to do that?"

"Motherfucker, it's a surprise for my Tavbro."

Unwittingly, you blush; he's been calling you "his" Tavbro with increasing frequency as of late, and you can't help but love the fond way in which he says it.  

You realize you're staring at him and haven't closed your eyes as he requested.  "Tavbro?  Please?"

"Oh--um, yeah, okay," you mumble embarrassedly, and you shut your eyes.  

You feel him entering the tent and before long, you feel yourself being lowered down onto some kind of--seat?  There are thin armrests on each side of it and, leaning back, you feel that the back of the chair only reaches to about the middle of your back, which is kind of strange.  

You realize it feels good to be sitting upright, because you've been lying down or been carried around for so many weeks.

You hear him shuffling around, during which he says, "Not yet, my man, keep those lids up and covering those miracle eyes for a little bit longer--"

He stops.  "All right, now, motherfucker."

Not sure what to expect, you open your eyes.  

The first thing you notice is that Gamzee is standing all the way at the other side of his tent, a shit-eating grin on his face.  Then, you notice that his floor is surprisingly clean.

"Uh, Gamzee, where did all of your, horns, and other stuff, go?"

He points rather flippantly at a corner of his tent, and your eyes our drawn to a small mountain of...all of Gamzee's junk.  "Um, Gamzee...why did you..."

"Had to make the floor nice and flat for my Tavbro's motherfucking miracle wheels, right?"

You are confused by what he means until you look down at yourself and realize that you are not sitting in any normal chair.  This is a four-wheel device--you've only ever seen one once or twice in your life, and were used by highblooded trolls who were sick, disabled, or elderly.  You stare at it, in shock.

 "Ain't you seen a motherfucking four-wheel device, before, Tavbro?" Gamzee asks after a long a silence where you just sit there, hands tightly gripping the wheels of your new chair.

"I--I have," you choke out.  "I just--never thought I would get to use one..."  Granted, you never dreamed that you would become a cripple.  "I only ever saw, uh, highblood trolls, using them, because of the fact that any uh, crippled or, um, elderly lowbloods were always, culled."

You feel one of Gamzee's infamous mood swings in your thinkpan as his thoughts suddenly turn dark and violently defensive.  "Ain't NO MOTHERFUCKER'S gonna motherfucking CULL MY Tavbro."

"Uh, don't be, upset, Gamzee," you say desperately, sending psychic tendrils of calm towards him.  "I'm, really happy, this is, unbelievable!"

And really, it is.  You inspect the wheeled device as best you can from your seat atop it, and it is made from sleek, shiny, expensive-looking Capitol-made metal, and it fits comfortably around your rather small frame.  

And then, suddenly, you realize, with this chair, you don't have to rely on Gamzee's strong arms all the time anymore--you won't kid yourself into thinking that you can be remotely his equal, you are still a cripple, and even if you weren't Gamzee is one of the tallest and strongest trolls you've met--but at least with this device's aid, you can move from point A to B on your own!  

As though reading your thoughts, Gamzee says, tone a little bit more sober this time, "I'm guessing me carrying you can't be too comfortable for you all the motherfucking time, so I thought, at least my Tavbro can get his roll on by his motherfucking own in here."

You don't know what to say, because you truly are so deeply moved by Gamzee's thoughtfulness.  It's as though he realizes that aching need in your core to do SOMETHING on your own, sometime, rather than being a 24-hour liability on another person.  "G-Gamzee--I, I--"

He's still standing on the other side of the tent but he's got a soft smile on his face now.  He holds his arms out and says.  "Come here, Tav."

You take a deep breath and push.

It's nothing like walking.  Not that you expected it to be, but really, it is nothing like it.  Walking--and even running--was a natural reflex, one foot came after the other with barely a single thought on your part.  You don't have that natural up-and-down bounce on these wheels, and you are so much closer to the ground that you feel like you've been cut in half.  And wheeling yourself takes a surprising amount of concentration; you have to push and then remember to replace your hands and then push again, and after just a few pushes you arms already getting a bit tired from the motions.  

But you see your goal--Gamzee, standing at the other side of the room, clown face lit up in an excited smile, arms held out towards you--this troll who actually says he NEEDS a useless little cripple like you--and you are moving towards him of your own volition, and you can't help the smile blooming on your own face, either.  You push and you push and he is the epitome of patience, waiting for you, and you break out into a full-toothed grin when you are finally right in front of him and he doesn't even give you time to breathe when he is already crouching down and crushing you in a tight embrace.

"You're a miracle, bro," he says.

\----------  
   
By the end of the evening, you are positively exhausted. You had practiced maneuvering in the four-wheeled device around Gamzee's tent while he honked and offered encouraging words; later, he had brought you to Feferi once again, and you noticed that she seemed more tired and withdrawn than usual but no less kind to you.  You decide that it's probably not your business to ask what's going on with her, but you do suggest that she rest a bit more.  She gives you a look that part-surprise, part-gratefulness.

You were only too eager to return to the four-wheel device once Feferi released you from her charge, and you spent the remainder of the evening wheeling yourself or being pushed by Gamzee.  Now, there is a sweet, delicious ache burning your arms and shoulders, but for once, you don't shy from the pain--you feel revitalized by it.    
Panting slightly, you tell Gamzee, "I think, I have, done enough, uh, wheeling, in the four-wheel device, for tonight."  

He smiles at you.  "Okay, Tavbro."  You try to protest when he swiftly scoops you out of the seat and then lies you down on the floor.  However, he then lies down right next to you and you smile, and when his fingers nudge yours you hold his hand tightly like it's instinct. 

You two lie in silence there for a little while, and before long, your thinkpan starts wandering.  

When it was dusk and the moons were rising, and Gamzee surprised you with your four-wheeled gift, you felt a rush of happiness and hope.  But now that the moons are descending and dawn approaching, your hope makes you think of the future and all of the pain and uncertainty that is sure to lie ahead.  These are the thoughts you've been trying to avoid, but at the moment they come to you unbidden, and they weigh down on your chest painfully until it's almost difficult to breathe.

You don't know how long you've been staring at the ceiling of Gamzee's tent, but you guess it's been a while because he turns to you and says, "Something all up and bothering your motherfucking thinkpan, Tavbro?"

You try to turn and face him but your horns prevent you from doing so while you are lying down.  So, still facing the ceiling, you say softly, "I, miss walking..."

"Tavbro..."

"And I...I miss my friends...I hope they're okay."

"I'm...sure they're...as motherfucking okay as they can be without this miracle, Tavbro."

"I...just...this morning, with the four-wheeled device, and everything, I felt, so, uh, hopeful, because it felt like, maybe things were, uh, changing, a little bit.  But now that I, think about it, nothing's really, uh, actually changed..."

You can feel turmoil swirling in Gamzee's thinkpan again.  "Look, Tavbro, I ALL UP AND MOTHERFUCKING SWORE to the motherfucking messiahs that this motherfucker wouldn't hurt you again--"

"No, no, I wasn't, uh, talking about, you, specifically.  More about, um, us, and the war, and how I'm a prisoner and still crippled, and...what's gonna happen."

You can almost hear him frown.  "Tavbro ain't no prisoner with me. Motherfuckers just gonna keep on doing this until the war's over."

"Do you, really think, that's possible, Gamzee?  I mean, even on this camp alone, there are dozens, of highbloods who, hate me--"

"Doesn't MOTHERFUCKING MATTER because this motherfucker won't let any bitches TOUCH Tavbro."

"What if you--what if you're not here, what if you're busy, what if you...die, Gamzee?"  

Then you would truly be completely alone.  Surrounded by vicious highbloods and utterly alone.

But you also realize that you fear losing Gamzee even more than you fear being alone in this place. You wouldn't want to lose Gamzee even if you weren't stuck in this place. The thought makes you tired and confused.

By the amount of time it takes for Gamzee to answer, you can tell he'd never truly considered this before.  His voice is deep and serious when he speaks. "I motherfucking promise that won't happen, Tavbro. I got my motherfucking miracles and my chucklevoodoos and my bitchtits miracle right here," he squeezes your hand tighter, "no bitch's gonna cull this purpleblood motherfucker."

Does he think he's invincible? "And what happens when...when the war, really is over?"

"Then we can go back to the motherfucking city, Tavbro, and you can all up and stay in my hive, because this little MIRACLE is MOTHERFUCKING MINE and no one is TAKING HIM--"

"So I'd be your slave?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

You feel Gamzee's mind recoil with shock and a little hurt, and you want to feel guilty but at the same time you really need to know how he feels about this. His voice sounds equally stung when he says, "Of course not, Tavbro. I'd keep you safe because THE BIG BAD WORLD IS DANGEROUS and other than that you'd be motherfucking FREE with this subjugglator. You could up and do whatever you want."

You take a deep breath, throwing caution to the wind, and you say, "What if I don't want you to be a subjugglator?"

Gamzee is stunned.

You venture on. "Because, if you're a subjugglator, then all I would be allowed to be, uh, is your slave, that is, if you decide to take me under your, uh, possession, because otherwise I would be culled on the account of having, no functioning legs. And uh, if you were a subjugglator, that would mean, you would have to kill lowbloods, who are, my friends, and that, lowbloods would still have to suffer, like they did, before the war."

You can literally tell the gears in his head are turning. It's like he's never considered any other possibility outside of being subjugglator, like subjugglating is as much part of his identity as his purple blood. Well, in pre-war Alternia, that very much would have been the actual case.

But you can also tell he's never really realized--or perhaps, never cared, until now--about the plight the lowbloods under the highbloods' hemospectral regime. The foundations of everything he knew are being shaken because you--his little miracle--are a lowblood.

"What if I wanted the Low Side to win?" you ask.

It's like a lightning bolt has hit Gamzee's thinkpan. After a long, long time, he says, in a scared voice. "Do you? I thought you didn't up and believe in their cause..."

"I don't believe in, uh, killing highbloods, or anybody, for that matter," you correct. "My friends are on the Low Side, Gamzee. But...I don't know what I want. Uh, if the High Side wins, my friends and I, will be culled or, tortured or made into, slaves, again...but...if the Low Side wins...what will happen to you? I can't--I can't lose you..."

You don't know why your tears would choose now of all times to fall, but they do. After weeks of persisting in not crying in front of Gamzee, you can't hold it in anymore. Between choked tears, you get out, "But what I want, doesn't matter, b-because I'm not imp-portant, in t-this war, and what I w-want, isn't going to affect the outcome..."

Suddenly you are being lifted off the floor and gangly arms are wrapping around your torso. You realize that Gamzee has gathered you up in his arms so that your face is pressed against his chest. He holds you tightly, and you hold him even tighter, feeling so safe with him, and for some reason that just makes you sadder.

"W-why do things have to b-be this way?" you sob. "Why c-can't if be o-okay in Alternia for us to be f-f-friends? Why do there have to be blood c-castes? Are h-highblood and l-lowblood really s-s-so differ-rent?"

Despite everything that you've been gone through in your life, you've been holding out quite well, always looking forward to a day where things might be better. But now you realize that despite everything you have or haven't done, there is no possible happy ending for you.

\--> BE GAMZEE MAKARA

You never cared about this war at all. Nor did you worry about its outcome. It was a given to almost everyone on the High Side that it was only a matter of time before the shitbloods surrendered or came crawling back.

And what did you think would happen after that? You thought everything, everyone, would go back to normal.

But you see now that the moment you first laid eyes on Tavros Nitram was the moment when normal stopped meaning anything to you.

Does his presence make you care about the war now? Does it make you care about about the lower half of the hemospectrum more than you did before? If you are honest with yourself, you still don't really give a motherfucking shit about anyone outside of yourself, and to you, highbloods are still high and lowbloods are still low. Tavros is different because he's YOUR miracle sent from the messiahs.

But Tavros cares about them, and now he's pressed against your chest crying bronze tears over them and over you, and you hope he can't feel the way your bloodpusher is crumbling like ash from the sound of his sorrow, inches from where his head lays on top of you.

His tiny frame is shaking, racking with sobs, and you lean closer to him as much as you can without getting impaled by those motherfucking horns. "Tavros," you whisper to him, "I motherfucking promise you that somehow this shit is gonna turn out okay. Don't know how, but miracles are on our motherfucking side and we'll figure out something. And I motherfucking promise that I'll keep you safe, no one's gonna touch my miracle here. I motherfucking promise I won't die, and I promise that I'll search high and low to find your miracle brothers and sisters and make sure you'll see them again."

He shakily nods beneath you, and you wonder if he believes you. Saying it out loud makes you realize how far-fetched it all is.

But even you don't realize how quickly you'll be breaking some of those promises.

You bring a up a hand and run it through his feather-soft adorable little mohawk, and he sighs against your chest and hugs you harder--

And then suddenly your tent flap opens.

"I apologize, highblood, for intruding, but we have been--"

It's too late for you to hide the way Tavros is curled up against your body, his horns inches from your face, or the way your hand is still resting affectionately in his hair. You are caught like a deer in headlights, and your miracle tenses up against your body, no longer shaking from his grief but shivering in terror. You want to scream.

Equius is standing at the entrance to your tent, and fortunately, he appears to be alone, but even with those stupid cracked glasses you can tell his eyes are widening and widening, and blue sweat it is rolling rapidly off his forehead.

Without moving, you say to the troll, "GET YOUR MOTHERFUCKING INDIGO CARCASS IN HERE RIGHT NOW AND CLOSE THE MOTHERFUCKING FLAP BEHIND YOU."

You can see the way he hesitates for a fraction of a second before doing as he is told. GOOD. Motherfucker is SMART, he knows that he has EVERY REASON TO BE AFRAID NOW.

As quickly and gently as you can, you lift Tavros up and off you and put him in his four-wheel device, at which Equius widens his eyes further. Lowbloods aren't supposed to have devices like that. Then you rush across the room towards Equius, and without hesitation wrap your hands around his thick neck.

"WHO THE MOTHERFUCK TOLD YOU COULD COME IN HERE, LOWBLOOD?"

Equius struggles to speak as you continue to squeeze his vocal chords. "The--the captain--assigned us--to a--a mission--"

"Well that's TOO MOTHERFUCKING BAD FOR HIM, because I ain't GOING on no MISSION."

Equius struggles to answer but you keep going.

"I saw the way you LOOKED at my Tavbro, all full of DISGUST like he was some worm, WELL YOU KNOW WHAT, YOU'RE THE MOTHERFUCKING WORM--"

Even in his state, Equius manages to grind out, "I did not--realize--you were participating in such--inappropriate--behavior with the--lowblood--when the captain--finds out--both of you will be--punished--"

"WHEN THE CAPTAIN FINDS OUT?" you bark. "WHO'S GONNA TELL THAT MOTHERFUCKER? IT AIN'T GONNA BE YOU, IS IT?"

"I--I can't betray--"

You don't let him finish, instead pushing him down until he is kneeling before you. "IT AIN'T GONNA BE YOU BECAUSE YOU'LL BE MOTHERFUCKING DEAD!"

Letting go of the last bit of your inhibition, you squeeze even harder and Equius's eyes are rolling into the back of his head, sputtering noises coming from his mouth--

"GAMZEE, STOP!"

You freeze at the sound of your little miracle's voice, and you swivel around to see that he has rolled right up to you without you noticing, and bronze tears are flowing freely down his cheeks. You suddenly remember how much he hates killing. "Tavbro, I know you all up and don't want no motherfuckers to die but he's seen too much--"

"Just, just let him say what he came here, for," Tavros says, and despite his evident fear there is a commanding tone in his voice that makes you let go of Equius immediately, and he crumples to the ground in a heap.

You resist the urge to kick him. "YOU MOTHERFUCKING HEAR THAT, LOWBLOOD? TAVROS IS THE ONLY REASON YOU'RE NOT MOTHERFUCKING DEAD!"

He wheezes for a few good, long minutes, during which time Tavros takes your hand in his and sends out his psychic calming miracles to you again. Still, you are so, so angry.

It's Tavros who speaks up, and again you are surprised by his bravery. "What is the mission the captain assigned to Gamzee?"

"What's--it to you, lowblood?" Equius glares, and Tavros's grip on your hand physically restrains you from choking the damn blueblood again. Equius turns to you, ignoring Tavros altogether, and says, still catching his breath, "One of our, scouts came back, injured, and said he had been attacked by a couple of rogue, lowbloods. The captain wants the two of us, to go dispose of them."

Tavros makes a noise of anguish, and you remember his love for his lowblood comrades. "I won't motherfucking do it."

But Tavros shakes his heads. "No, Gamzee, you have to."

Both you and Equius look at him in surprise.

Face flushed with bronze, Tavros says, "It'll just be suspicious, if you, don't go, Gamzee. And even if you don't, they'll just, uh, send someone else, to do it."

"But, but Tavbro," you say.

Imploringly, he looks up at you. "Please, just--don't make it, painful, for them, please?"

Your bloodpusher breaks all over when you look at your little miracle's face, and at the miraculous bravery he doesn't know he has, and you lean down in front of him and say, "I promise." You've made so many promises tonight.

There is a storm cloud in your thinkpan when you leave together with the indigoblood, who is still rubbing his throat and casting nervous looks at you. You can't stop thinking about how Tavros is sitting alone in your tent while you go off and kill the people he loves.

\--> BE KANAYA MARYAM

Your uniform is lying folded up beneath a tree root, and several feet away, a naked indigoblood lies dead on the ground.

You are wearing her uniform and hastening towards the highblood camp as quickly as you can.

You adjust the blue armband on the foreign uniform. The High Side is so archaic. While the Low Side keeps track of soldiers' blood colors for identification purposes, the High Side parades their colors on their uniforms proudly, denoting blood rank via armbands, even amongst their own.

This wasn't Karkat's original plan. You all were supposed find a place of refuge close to the highblood camp, and when the sun came out, you would slip inside to look for Tavros.

None of you had counted on quite literally running into three indigoblood scouts by accident.

None of you dared use firearms at that close range, since the risk of hitting one of your own was too great. Luckily, you and your friends are all adept at hand-to-hand combat. You itched to bring out your lipstick and chainsaw the bluebloods in half, but you wanted to avoid making a mess if possible.

You managed to separate one of the indigobloods from her comrades and take her on one-on-one. You weren't too worried about Karkat, Sollux, Aradia, and Nepeta, because they were fighting the two other highbloods four-on-two.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw one of the bluebloods escaping through the trees back in the direction of their camp, and you knew time was ticking before backup arrived.

You managed to get a clean slit of the indigoblood's throat and change out of your own uniform into hers. It would have been safer to disguise yourself as a tealblood, since no one would possibly mistake your jade blood for indigo if you happened to bleed or cry or something.

You'll just have to be careful not to.

It's only about an hour before the sun comes up, you assure yourself. Your disguise only has to work for roughly one hour, during which time you can try to gather information on a lowblood prisoner (and hope that no one recognizes you), before most of the camp goes to bed (hopefully) and you can look for Tavros.

The highblood camp comes into view and you take a deep breath. Sneaking into a powerful enemy base is the most dangerous thing you have ever done, and you'll admit it: you are scared.

But for Tavros it's worth it. All of you would have been dead if not for him, anyway.

You take out your palmhusk and send a message to Karkat, praying harder than you have ever prayed before that he and the other three will manage to clear the area before highblood reinforcements arrive.

grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

gA: I Am Going In  
gA: Please Be Safe

grimAuxiliatrix [GA] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I knew how to make Pesterchum conversations color-coded and all that fancy shit. For now this will have to do!
> 
> Let me know what you think about this chapter! How were the brief appearances of Eridan and Equius? About Eridan...I swear I'm not bashing him, I love Ampora. But his assholery is part of what I love about him. }:oP 
> 
> Kinda ended on a cliffhanger there...LOL. Shit's hitting the fan!!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WaRnInG: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS RAPE.
> 
> I'm sorry if it's sudden and upsetting. Rape in it of itself IS sudden and upsetting. And it is a very real thing, especially in wartime. In all honesty, it was very difficult for me to write this chapter, but I feel like it was necessary. }:'o( As a writer I owe it to readers not to coddle them from realistic horrors, even in the context of fiction!
> 
> 11/24/2017: I've decided to start illustrating scenes from this story and I've added the first illustration to this chapter! Check it out at https://yzydragon2222.deviantart.com/art/W3-DON-T-W4NT-TH4T-GR33N-4PPL3-SPILLING-4LL-OV3R-716692931

Chapter 8

\--> BE TAVROS NITRAM

You don't know what to do with yourself once Gamzee leaves. It's the first time he's been called for a mission and has had to leave the camp since your arrival here, and without him by your side you are suddenly aware of just how vulnerable you are here. If someone chose to attack you, you would be defenseless.

Despite the fear that you voiced earlier, you don't fear for Gamzee's life. At least not in this situation. You know that he is probably better than anybody at killing. Just take that blueblood who walked in on the two of you. If you hadn't said something...you shudder. Sure, the blueblood may have looked at you with disdain but you would never forgive yourself if he died for that reason.

But you imagine Gamzee coming back to you now, his lazy smile on his face, covered in blood from rust to green.

The image haunts your mind, and restlessly, you wheel yourself around in circles around the inside of his tent. You desperately yearn for a breath of fresh or air but you know better than to try to exit the tent now, without Gamzee here.

You pass by the entrance of Gamzee's tent several times as you wheel about, and you hear voices filtering in. You try to ignore them each time, but they seem to be talking pretty loudly, and finally, you decide to listen to their conversation, if only to distract yourself from the thoughts bombarding your thinkpan right now.

It sounds like there are two of them, both male. "...do you think about those shitbloods?" says one.

"Eh--probably just a couple of deserters."

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hm. Why else wouldn't they be with the rest of their shitty army?" He chuckles. "Bunch of cowards, the lot of them. Just their luck that they happened to run right in our direction."

"Then why'd you set Zahhak and Makara on them? Probably a couple of tealbloods would already be enough to take them."

"Eh--I figured it wouldn't hurt to teach those pukebloods a lesson. Besides...I thought it was prime time to let Makara have some fun. He hasn't killed anyone in weeks and I thought I might as well give him some meat so he can release his clowny coocooness somewhere other than here."

You're not sure how to feel, hearing this highblood stranger talk about Gamzee in this way. And it's like Gamzee killing is a regular occurrence.

One of them laughs, and it's a horrible, cruel sound. "Or he's been 'releasing it' all over that shitblood they brought back that other day."

With a pang, you realize he's talking about you.

"True, true," the other replies, chuckling.

"Speaking of that shitblood, it's his platoon we'll be taking on in two weeks, right?"

You suddenly feel like you can't breathe.

"Eh--eleven days, more like. But yes."

"Then it'll be a piece of cake. Trash fought like fucking sissies when we attacked them the other day."

"True, but, when isn't killing shitbloods a piece of cake?"

The two of them laugh together, like the fact that they're going to ambush the Rookies, and the people you care about the most in the world, is a huge joke. Like they just can't wait for their deaths to happen.

You have to let your friends know somehow. You can't just let them sit around like bait for eleven days before the highbloods go and kill them! You have to--

But then the trolls outside just continue talking. Because all this probably IS just some joke to them.

"I'll be having a meeting here, in a few days, to talk over the details of that ambush. But honestly that's not nearly the main thing I intend to talk about."

"Wait, then what's the main thing?"

"Eh--only how this war is only gonna to last another half a sweep at most."

The confident tone in his voice makes you shudder with horror, but the other troll clearly does not share your sentiment.

"What are you talking about?" he says, an excited tremor in his voice.

"Oh, I'm not supposed to talk about it," is the reply. "I only got a letter from the Capitol about it this morning."

"C'mon man, don't leave me hanging."

"Oh, you only have to wait a few more days to find out."

"Fuck you, man!  You did this on purpose to taunt me!  Now I'll roll around in my 'coon unable to sleep every morning because I can't stop pondering about what you said, and by the time I wake up I'll be--"

"Geez, dude, calm your tits.  Fine. I'm only telling you because I don't want you to hear your bitching for the next hour-and-a-half.  But don't tell anyone else yet."

"I promise I won't."

"Well, the Capitol's developing a new kind of technology, one that will most definitely ensure our victory over the fucking shitbloods, and it'll be ready in about half a sweep. By the end of this half a sweep, we'll be marching back them back to the city in chains."  You can hear his smirk.  "Or at least, the ones who are still alive, I guess."

"Get out of town, man!  How is that even..."

Their voices drop, as though fearing eavesdroppers, and you can no longer hear them.  Part of you is glad of that, however, because you need some time to recover from the information you just heard.  Your whole body is breaking out in a cold sweat, and your bloodpusher is hammering so hard that you can literally see your body jump with every deafening beat.  

The highbloods are already devising some kind of invincible weapon that will ensure the end of the war?  You don't like this war, but this not the way you wanted it to end.  Not even in your worst nightmare did the War of High and Low end this way.

Unable to sit still for any longer, you grab the four-wheel device's wheels and circle around Gamzee's tent a few more times, trying to will your bloodpusher to slow down, but it only seems to thump faster and faster, and you are so close to hyperventilating that you actually grab your own horns, wringing at them.

"...this Makara's tent?"

You're at the entrance of the tent once again, and you pause when you hear that the two male trolls have increased the volume of their conversation once again.  

"Yeah, this is the one."

"Hehehehehe..."

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, I was just wondering if he actually keeps that fucking pukeblood in there."  There's a pause.  "HEY SHITBLOOD.  YOU IN THERE?"

Your thinkpan goes blank.  Oh no.  Oh no no no no no.  You swallow and back up your wheels, trying to look for somewhere to hide, but there's nothing.  Your best bet would be inside Gamzee's recuperacoon, but you don't how you'll manage to get yourself up there from the four-wheel device.    

"Hehehe, you probably need to SPEAK SLOWER, shit-for-brains like pukebloods can't understand when you talk so fast."

There's more laughter and then one of them hollers, in exaggeratedly drawn-out tones, "HELLOOOOO.  ANYYY-BODYYY HOOOOOME?  III'M LOOKING FOOOR AAA DIIIIIRTYYY BLOOOOOD!"

In some remote corner of your mind, you are offended by his pass at your intelligence,  but you are panicking so hard right now that you are unable to dwell on it for long.

"C'mon man, just go in there and look for yourself if the shitblood's in there!"

No, you think.  No, no, no, no, no.  It's as if you think that if you repeat the word enough times in your thinkpan, it will prevent the tent from opening and a highblood coming inside to get you.

But the tent opens and a highblood comes inside.

The highblood in question has a scar running along the right side of his face and purple-tinted glasses obscuring his eyes.  His violet armband indicates to you that he is violetblooded.  Even higher than Gamzee. A huge smirk erupts on his face when he catches sight of you, trembling like a leaf in the middle of Gamzee's tent, mouth half-open.

"So...someone IS home after all, huh?  You know, it's rude not to answer the door...but I suppose a shitblood wouldn't know anything about manners, am I right?"  The troll lets out a guffaw and you desperately want to roll backward, roll as far away from him as you possibly can, but you can't, you're frozen in place as if you've been carved from ice.

"Come here, shitblood," the troll says to you, but you just continue sitting there, gawking at him.

"III SAIIID, COOOOOME HEEEEERE, SHIIITBLOOOOOD!" he abruptly hollers, using those drawn-out exaggerated tones again.  

The last thing you want to do is comply, but you also reason with yourself that your life might be considerably more painful if he walked in and retrieved you instead, so with shaking arms, you slowly maneuver your four-wheel device towards him, feeling as though you are on the way to your execution.  You probably are, if you are honest with yourself.

"Are all shitbloods so fucking slow?  HURRY UP!" He drops the tent flap and disappears on the other side.  

You try to push your wheels a little harder, but your arms are practically noodles at this point, and with each push you only move a couple of measly inches.

In due time, however, you reach the entrance of Gamzee's tent again, and screwing your eyes shut, you open the flap and push yourself outside.  

You barely have time to gather your bearings before the scarred, bespectacled troll harshly grabs you by the horns, and you bite down on your tongue to keep from crying out.  He forcibly lifts your face up toward him.

His comrade steps over and looks you up and down.  "Why the fuck is he in a four-wheel device?"

"The fuck if I know," the one holding you replies.  "Where'd you get the four-wheel device, shitblood?" he spits in your face.  

You want to lie, but realize that literally nothing you could come up with would even be remotely believable.  "It's--it's from, G-G-Gamzee..." you say with a small, tremulous voice.

"Probably one of the psycho's weird kinks," the other troll says.

"Calling him by name, huh, shitblood?  Did your lusus never teach you that that's fucking disrespectful?"  You don't have a chance to respond.  He kicks your leg hard, and for the first time since your paralysis you are kind of grateful, because you don't feel it.  "Get up, shitblood!"

"I-I-I c-c-c-can't," you stutter brokenly.

He jerks your horns, hard, and this time, you can't control the yelp that escapes from your lips.  "Didn't you hear me the first time?  I said, GET UP, shitblood!"

You are attracting attention by now, and a few trolls have stopped to watch.  Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the twisted smiles on their faces as they look at you, highly entertained.  

"I'm, s-sorry, I-I c-can't," you repeat.

The violetblood lets go of your horns and stomps hard on your left foot with his boot.  He twists and turns on it until you hear sickening cracking noises and bronze blood leaking out beneath his shoe.  The surrounding highbloods cheer, until they notice the lack of pained reaction from you.

The other violetblood looks bemused.  "Holy shit, maybe he really can't get up, after all."

For some random reason, you think about Feferi and what she might say when she sees your mangled foot.  If you live to let her look at it. 

The troll takes his foot off yours and laughs.  "Makara has really outdone himself this time.  A fucking cripple?  Jegus, the list of Makara's fucking kinks are really weirding me out."

The other troll suddenly sounds a bit more reserved.  "Nektan, are you sure it was the greatest idea to do that?  Makara is always pretty territorial with his property--"

The one named Nektan lets out a cry of frustration.  "For once, I do not give a flying fuck what Makara thinks.  I'm the captain here and that weirdo really needs to learn his place sooner or later."  He yanks your horns again.  "And if the first step to doing that is taking his shitblood, then so be it."

Oh my gog, he's the captain, you think.  Not that you really expected anyone to come save you before, but the fact that this Nektan is the leader here seems to drive the possibility of your escape from this situation even further.  

"Hmmm...so what to do with you?" Nektan says, scrutinizing your face.  "Looks like these fucking horns have some use after all.  Good for steering, like a bull," he sneers, turning your head left and right.  You have the distinct impression of being a slave being inspected at an auction.  The crowd laughs at the insult to your horns, and despite yourself, you heat with embarrassment.  

"On the other hand," he says, abruptly letting go of you and leaving your head spinning with dizziness, "I have some business to attend to."  He turns away from you, and for a moment you are filled with disorienting disbelief, but then he turns BACK and your eyes widen in horror--

His pants are unzipped and then warm, pungent liquid sprays you as he urinates in your lap.  You feel tears of humiliation and disgust rising in your eyes.  

Nektan's friend and the rest of the onlookers guffaw, and, addressing them as though he is some kind of performer, Nektan yells, "Well, I'm lucky I found a load gaper right here!  Even if it is a little bit too DIRTY for my liking!"

He then grabs your horns again, and forces your head forward until you meet his crotch.  He yells at someone, "Go get a bucket!"

There's more laughing and someone says, "Yes, sir!" with an amused tone, and before long, a bucket is shoved in front of your four-wheel device.

"Heh, this one's a quiet one," Nektan's friend chuckles.  "This is usually the time they start screaming for mercy.  Or for more."

"I'm starting to see the appeal of having a cripple in a four-wheel device," Nektan sneers.  "Makes you permanently at kneeling height.  You know what I mean?"

You wildly think of Nepeta, and her endless hobby of "shipping" people on your platoon or sometimes, and rather more uncomfortably, people within your little six-person squad.  She was so elated when Sollux and Aradia became moirails.  She would constantly drone on about a potential matespritship between herself and Karkat, much to Karkat's discomfort.  Sometimes she would red-ship you with Aradia (she was only your best friend, that would never change!) or pale-ship you with Karkat (thanks, but UM no?).

And sometimes she would get explicit in her fantasies, and she would describe, in shocking detail, two people madly in love with one another, and the sweet ways they would engage in the sacred act of pailing.  You would always cover your ears and babble loudly to block out her embarrassing words, but deep within your core, there was some desire that someday, you would be the one pailing with someone you loved.

You know now that those were lies.

They don't give you time to cry before your mouth is being forced open and Nektan's bulge writhes its way past your teeth, wriggles grossly on your tongue, and prods the back of your throat, making you choke.

You block out their humiliating words, and try not to choke or make noise as Nektan defiles your mouth, and plead with every ounce, every cell, of your being, that Gamzee come back soon.

\--> BE KANAYA MARYAM

You don a pair of sunglasses (to hide your jade eyes) and enter the camp with a relative lack of trouble.  

You see right away that even the High Side camp's living arrangements are blood-organized.  The tents nearest to the mouth of the cave (and thus most liable to danger and attack) have teal patches sewn onto them.  Several tealbloods glance in your direction when you enter, but upon seeing the indigo armband you are sporting, either salute to you, or ignore you.  You find yourself disgusted by the class distinctions the High Side is obsessed with creating.

By the time you have reached the cobalt section of the camp, you are aware of two things.  One, that the higher the blood rank, the bigger the tent.  The cobalt tents, with their telltale cobalt patches sewn onto them, are considerably bigger, and probably more comfortable, than the teal ones.

Two, that everyone in camp is distracted by something.

Numerous trolls are murmuring and some giggling amongst one another, and many of them are heading in the same direction as you are, deeper into the camp and towards the even higher-blooded sections.

You are nervous (more than you already are) when you breach the indigo section.  You are most likely to get recognized as a trespasser here, among trolls who sport the same uniform as you.    
   
"Hey!" someone calls, and your bloodpusher sinks with dread.

You turn around, ready (but not really, not that you have a choice, anyway) for your doom, but instead, it is just another indigoblood who looks young and has a disarming smile on his face. Upon seeing you, his smile isn't dampened. You surmise that he is likely a new recruit, not yet "broken in".  
   
You smile back, hoping that you too can pass as a new recruit or something.  "Hello," you greet.

"I heard the captain's putting up some sort of 'show' up ahead, with Makara's little shitblood," the indigoblood says, and the amount of hatred he puts into the word "shitblood" surprises even you, but within seconds his disarming smile is back.  "You heading up there as well?"

Your bloodpusher races, and you urge it calm down, lest the jade bloom in your cheeks.  "Yes," you say as naturally as you possibly can, "I heard some of the others in converse about this particular event and decided to see for myself what the commotion is about."

The indigoblood raises his eyebrows for a split second at your prim speech, and you internally berate yourself for slipping into your overly proper speech patterns.  "Yeah, I mean, everyone's wanted a bite out of Makara's shitblood and this is the first time we've got a shot it without him breathing down or fucking necks," he says.  A chill runs up your spine at his implications, but you shove it out of your thinkpan for now.  

He walks on in a hurried pace, as though eager to check out the ordeal and losing patience for your slow pace.

You are nearing the back of the cave when you see a small crowd of rowdy highbloods watching some spectacle.  It seems to be taking place in front of a massive tent with a purple patch on it, and seeing it makes you involuntarily convulse a little bit as you remember the chucklevoodoo torture the other day.  It must have been the same purpleblood.  Subjugglators are rarely seen in the High Side army, after all.

You edge closer to the crowd, not daring yet needing to get closer, and you hear a horrible sloshing sound--

And then you see it.  The most vile, disgusting, and heartbreaking thing you have ever seen in your life, and every instinct in your body screams at your to abscond and yet you cannot move a muscle as you stand there, eyeballs glued to the horrible sight, transfixed.  

A violetblooded troll is emptying purplish genetic material into a bucket from his writhing bulge, and you would wonder how any troll could have such little shame if it were not for the fact that right in front of him is Tavros, looking tinier and more fragile than you've ever seen him, sitting in a four-wheel device, of all things, eyes screwed shut and bronze tears cascading from them as he empties his stomach over the armrest of the chair, and you see streaks of violet dribbling down his chin and it doesn't take you long to put two and two together and realize what that absolutely coldhearted highblood must have been doing to your most innocent friend--

"That, shitblood," the violetblood snarls, "was fucking TERRIBLE.  Did your lusus never teach you how to do it properly?  What good are lowblood lusii if they don't teach you how to use your fucking filthy mouth?"

Tavros doesn't even dare look up, doesn't dare make a sound, as he sits in the device, hunched and absolutely wretched.  

"You should be grateful, pukeblood.  That should have been the most superb meal you had in your life."  The crowd laughs and you wonder how they can be so heartless.  "Now fucking say THANK YOU."

It doesn't even take Tavros two seconds to mumble, "Thank you."  Even though you think even you would have put up more of a fight if it were you in that situation (you shudder at the very thought), you are glad that he doesn't value pride over self-preservation.

How you wish you could rush forward and gather poor Tavros in your arms right now!  Shield him from these hateful highbloods and protect him from a fate he doesn't deserve (too late for that, you remind yourself).  Run your hand soothingly down his back in comfort, sing him something wonderful and calm.

But you can't do that, because you know that would only make things worse.  You swore you wouldn't cry after coming in here.  That would give your blood away right away.  How can the heavens expect you to watch this without crying?  

Another violetblood who is standing nearby guffaws.  "Seems like this one's good at obeying orders.  Maybe that's why Makara thinks he's a keeper."

"All right, then, I guess the little shit deserves some reward.  Seeing as you're a fucking ugly cripple, we'll fuck you.  Only out of PITY, of course, who would WANT to fuck something as disgusting as you are?"  The violetblood spits in Tavros's face, and Tavros still remains silent.  "Take your pants off.  Or are those Makara's pants?"  The crowd boos, and the violetblood makes a gagging noise.

You notice now that Tavros is wearing a pair of purple polka-dotted pajama pants that are way too long on him, and they are clearly not his own.  He obediently begins pushing the pants down, his head still bent and his face so bronze that you can't tell between his heavy flush and his tears.  

You begin to wonder what the four-wheel device might be for when you see the way Tavros struggles with his pants.  His legs are bent at awkward angles, and you wonder if he's hurt.  It takes a good five minutes for him just to get his pants off completely, and it's obviously not only because he's stalling the inevitable.  

You are slightly amazed that everyone just patiently watched Tavros struggle with his pants for five minutes without complaint, but when the clothing is bunched at Tavros's feet the violetblood seems to finally lose patience and he pulls them off roughly.  You gasp at the sight of Tavros's foot, which is swollen and bleeding.  

One of the violetbloods grips Tavros's horns, hard, and you see Tavros bite his lip so hard that bronze runs from it.  Still, he makes no sound.

The other violetblood grabs each of Tavros's legs, which dangle limply in his grasp, and drapes them over the arms of the four-wheel device.  The crowd jibes at his openly exposed private parts, and Tavros's eyes are screwed shut, as though closing his eyes might help him close all of his other senses, too.  He doesn't even attempt to close his legs.

"If that isn't the ugliest fucking nook I have ever seen," one of the violetbloods mocks.  "Who wants to fuck him first?"

You can't bear this, the way they are offering sex with Tavros the way one would offer alcohol at a party.  You are just about ready to abandon every promise you made to yourself about maintaining covertness in this highblood camp, when something actually manages to distract you from the scene.  Something wet and slimy sliding across your cheek.  "What the--" you start to yell.

You lock eyes with a tealblood female--or at least, you're looking at her but you can't tell where she's looking because pointed red glasses are covering her eyes from view.  

She retracts her tongue back into her mouth--and you realize she was licking you, what in the world?--and she says, "Lady, calm your tits.  We don't want that green apple to go spilling all over the place, do we?"

You open your mouth to ask what green apple she's talking about, when the possibility that she's referring to your blood runs through you like an electric shock and you freeze up.  Your thinkpan is firing a million things at you but you can't make sense of any of them.  "I...don't know what you're talking about," you say stiffly.

She hooks an arm around your shoulders in an openly friendly gesture. You stiffen even further. "Lady, don't worry. I'm a...friend. I won't go ratting you out."

You decide to feign ignorance for a little bit longer. "What are you insinuating, tealblood?" you try to say condescendingly. "Unhand me this instant."

She raises her eyebrows and you still can't tell if she's looking at you. "You're good at this," she smiles. "That's good to know. But seriously, we need to get you out of here, because there will be hell to pay if someone like Vriska sniffs you out."

You don't know who or what she's talking about, but the tealblood tightens her grip around your shoulders and starts leading you away from the scene, and you can't remove her from your shoulders without causing a huge spectacle. You drag your feet on the ground, not because you want to stay and watch what is possibly the worst hour of Tavros's life, but because you feel like he deserves to have a friend amongst this hateful crowd, a friend whose bloodpusher is bleeding for him, even if you, the said friend, can't do anything to help him.

"I know," she says, and there is a hint of strain in the tealblood's voice, despite the huge, sharp-toothed smile she is sporting.  "But there's nothing you can do to help him right now.  There's no point beating yourself up watching something like this."

"Turning a blind eye won't make it stop happening," you grit out.

She snorts in response, as though you just said some inside joke.  "Don't I know it," she says.  "But from what I know of Tavros, he wouldn't want you seeing him like this either."  

You don't know if it's her mention of Tavros's name that loosens your little bit of resistance, but you allow her to lead you away.  The crowd's shouts still ring in your ears like audible poison.  

To your surprise, she leads you past the purple tent, past three violet ones, all the way to the very last tent at the end of the cave.  You are kind of shocked to see the fuchsia patch sewn onto it.  You always thought that fuchsiabloods thought themselves above joining the military.  

"Not many people would dare go inside a fuchsiablood's tent, even if it's Feferi who's a sweet bugglegum lollipop, so you should be safe here for the time being," the tealblood says.  

She rings a bell at the entrance of the tent, and cold fear is suddenly gripping at your throat as you realize that this will be your first time meeting a dreaded fuchsiablood, the highest of the highbloods, and surely this can only mean your execution--

A slightly plump, long-haired female troll with long hair and glasses (or are they goggles?) appears at the tent entrance.  To your surprise, there is no cruel scowl on her brow, no heinous smirk upon her lips.  "Terezi?  What's that commotion going on out there?  And--oh!"  She catches sight of you, and you can't help but narrow your eyes at her, in disdain.  It's HER kind that has caused all the lowbloods so much strife and suffering.  "Who's this?" she asks.

"An old friend of mine," Terezi lies easily.  "She's a new recruit.  I thought we'd take some time to get acquainted."  

Feferi's eyes widen in surprise, but she seems to believe Terezi and says, "Shore!  Uh--come right in!  Make yourself--comfortable!  Glub!"

Terezi leads you inside, and once the tent flap closes behind her, she removes her arm from your shoulders. 

You don't hesitate for a second, using your rapid reflexes to pull a knife out from your holster and springing on the fuchsiablood.  With surprisingly little resistance, she lets out a soft scream and you pin her to the floor.  You hold the cold blade to her neck and you feel a rush of empowerment as you have never felt before, with the most "precious" of blood colors only centimeters from your fatal fingers.  "Explain what is going on at this instant or your fuchsiablood shall die," you say coldly.

Terezi holds her hands up in a posture of surrender, but doesn't even flinch.  "Feferi, don't panic," she tells the fuchsiablood troll, who is obviously panicking.  "This is a friend of Tavros's."  

Feferi's response is one that you would have expected the least.  She slacks beneath your grip, as though in relief--or sadness?  "Oh," she sighs.  "I'm so sorry."  

"For what?" you inquire.

"Feferi is our best medic," Terezi says calmly.  "She's the one who's been taking care of Tavros.  He was brought in injured."

You don't say anything for a few long minutes, trying to process everything that is happening to you.  You can scarcely believe that you, a jadeblood, are holding a fuchsiablood hostage while a tealblood calmly tells you about your bronzeblood friend.  What kind of upside-down nightmare are you trapped in? 

You have always been a pretty good judge of character, and if you are honest with yourself, if you look past your innate hatred for highbloods, both of these trolls seem pretty genuine.    
   
But you still don't trust highbloods enough to let Feferi out of your grasp.  "How did you know who I am?" you settle for asking the teablood.

She smiles.  "I'm blind," she says, and you are genuinely taken aback.  "I smelled you the moment you stepped foot into camp," she explains.  "That's a very refreshing shade of green you are."

"Are you a jadeblood?" Feferi gasps, and you are disgusted by the tone of awe that she uses.  As though you're some kind of fascinating zoo animal.    
   
"She is," Terezi answers for you.  "I didn't actually know her in the past, but I also recognized her because she was the best fucking seamstress in the city before the war."  

You haven't heard about, or even thought about, your past life in fashion since the war started.  Loathe as you are to admit it, you were happy with your life before the war.  As a jadeblood, you weren't low enough to be too poorly mistreated by the higher bloods.  That said, you also couldn't just turn a blind eye on your rust and yellow-green comrades.  

But you never really expected to be recognized for your talents, favorably, by anybody on the High Side.  

"Wow!" Feferi says.  "And how did you get in here?"

"None of your business, highblood," you answer, trying to put as much sarcasm as you can into the last word.  

Undeterred, she presses on, "Did you come for Tavros?"

"Pretty sure she did," Terezi answers for you again.  "Why else would anyone sneak in here alone?  That's basically suicide."

Feferi looks away, as though a little bit ashamed of something.  "I never thought lowbloods would be this brave," Feferi says quietly.

You don't whether that is a compliment or an insult, but aren't given much time to ponder because Terezi cuts in, "As much as I admire you reconsideration of your worldly views up to this point, Feferi, we really don't have time for that."  You are quite impressed with the casual and rather stern tone that she uses with the fuchsiablood.  "Tavros needs your help right now."

"What?  Is he hurt again?" Feferi gasps.  You grimace.

"No, worse," Terezi informs her grimly.  "Gamzee was sent on a mission with Equius, and...well, the captain decided to take advantage of the situation and jump the kid."

You can see the comprehension settling in Feferi's eyes.  "Oh cod.  Oh please no."  Tears well up in her purple-pink eyes.  "Is that what the awful noise outside is?"

Terezi nods grimly.

"Oh no!  I must do something!"  Feferi makes a movement to get up, but is suddenly made aware of the knife still very much pressed to her throat.  Getting up would be sending herself to her death.  "Um..." she looks up at you, pleadingly.

"Give me a reason why I should trust either of you," you growl. "As far I am concerned, you could be wanting to join them."

"Because this is my chance to prove to Eridan that I CAN act like a real fuchsiablood troll!" Feferi bursts out, really in tears this time.  "I can try to do something to stop this!"  

You don't understand half of what she's talking about, or who this "Eridan" fellow, is, but you'd have to be deaf to miss the desperation in her voice.

Terezi pipes up, "Look, lady, I'd love to spend the next few sweeps trying to convince you why you should trust us, but as I'm sure you know we just don't have time for that.  Feferi couldn't possibly make things worse than they already are, and she's our best chance at stopping them before Gamzee gets back.  We do care about Tavros, you know.  We have that in common."

You look long and hard at Terezi, and her expression is unflinching.  Finally, you move aside and allow Feferi to move out from under you, and she immediately pushes herself up and rushes out of her tent.  You can only hope that she'll actually do something.

Terezi moves as if to step toward you, but you hold your knife threateningly in her direction, making it clear that you won't hesitate to bed it in her body if she so much as moves.  "Not you, you stay right there," you tell her lowly. 

"I guess that's to be expected," she sighs, holding her hands up in a posture of surrender once again.  Then she grins at you as if nothing had happened.  "I'm Terezi Pyrope, by the way."  

You have a feeling that this is just the start of a very long day.

\--> BE FEFERI PEIXES

As a field medic, you have seen your share of revolting, gut-churning scenes of violence and gore, and your training has hardened you and taught you to stomach your horror and disgust.  

But when you see what they are doing to Tavros, you can't help but retreat to a corner and empty the contents of your stomach before you can even think about braving it again.  

Despite everything, you feel betrayal when you see that it is the captain and his other violetblooded buddy engaging in Tavros's torture.  You gave up your calm, royal life in the city to join the war effort, put in so much sweat and tears for the sake of your people, and gladly gave the captain your service and loyalty, only for him to commit the most heinous and violating of crimes, not even a few steps from your tent?  

The crowd is so enamored by the scene that they don't even pay attention to you when you try to push through them.  Normally, they would be bowing at your feet.

With a sick feeling to your stomach, you wonder if you would be among this crowd if you didn't already know what a sweet and gentle soul Tavros is. After all, he is not Tavros to them; he is just a shitblood.

When you finally make your way past the crowd, you yell, "Stop!"

The captain doesn't even appear to hear you, and is instead grabbing Tavros's horns and taunting him.  But Tavros seems to have heard you and for a fraction of a second, he opens his eyes and your gazes meet.  

Frustrated at being ignored, and growing increasingly desperate, you shout, "Stop it this instant!" and grab the captain by the arm.

Later, you will wonder whether you were naïve to feel so confident that he would actually listen to you, only because of your blood status.  That his so-called respect for the hierarchy of highbloods would override his hatred for a lowblood.  

But right now, all you register is the way the crowd quiets at your display.  The captain, whose bulge is still protruding scandalously from his pants, stumbles slightly when you pull him away from Tavros and whips his head around.  Tavros bows his head, cowering, and tries to cover up the part of his anatomy that has been so barbarically displayed between his helplessly splayed legs.  "What do you think you're doing, bitch--" the commander growls.  He stops when he sees you.

"I am telling you, TO STOP!" you say as regally as possibily can through your rage.  "I knew you were capable of a lot of things, Captain, but this?  Rape?"

"Aw, come on, Peixes, he was only--" his buddy tries to defend.

"Shut your mouth!" you snap, with vehemence you didn't know you had.  You turn back to the captain.  "As the only fuchsiablood on this platoon, I am commanding you to stop!"

The captain looks stunned for several moments, and the crowd starts muttering.  You feel a flash of triumph.

But then, he has the gall to smirk at you and say, "Well, Peixes, I am the captain and as your superior, I am commanding you to mind your own business. I'll have someone escort you back to your tent if it upsets the lady."

"B-but!" you splutter. "You can't do this! I'm a fuchsiablood! You have to listen to me!"

"But this is war, honey," he replies with a sickeningly sweet voice. "We play by different rules.

To your sinking disbelief, the crowd starts murmuring soft assent with him.

"Besides," he continues, abruptly turning away from you. "I'm not raping the shitblood whore if he likes it. Ain't that right, little cripple." He's in front of Tavros and pulling his tear-stained face up by the tuft of his mohawk--and, oh cod, what is that purple stuff on his face?

"Tell the good lady how much you like this," he hisses at Tavros.

Trembling and in evident pain, the brownblood slowly lifts his warm chocolate eyes at you, and you don't think you are brave enough to look at the suffering shining in them.

"I-I-I...r-real-lly...um...l-l-like this-s a-a l-lot...Y-your H-highness..." he whispers to you.

Something is breaking inside you.

"Slut! Shitblood whore!" people shout around you, and someone from the crowd grabs your arms, as though trying to console you, and says, "Aww, look. Her Highness is too nice for her own good, even to shitbloods."

The captain throws one last smile at you before standing up, and you don't have time to even blink before he shoves his bulge into Tavros.

\--> BE TAVROS NITRAM

You scream.

You had sworn to yourself, when all of this started, that you would not. You would speak if they asked you to speak, and you would do whatever they asked you to do, but you would not succumb to uttering a single sound in addition to that.

But you can't help it now. The agony is too great.

The nerve endings of your skin at the opening of your nook have deadened from your paralysis, and but when Nektan shoves himself inside you, you find that the nerves inside, nerves that you had never explored before, that you never knew you had--are still very much alive. It's like someone's taken a scalding knife and cut through them from the inside out.

You don't know if you do it intentionally or subconsciously. Most others don't realize it, but your relationship with animals is far deeper than just a cordial alliance. Sometimes you think that you would fail at moirallegiance with any troll only because the creatures you befriend already give you so much in that department. They anchor your soul to the earth with their instinctive natures. They keep you quiet company when you are lonely. They give you loyal support when you are weak. You give them nourishment and trust, and they, in turn, give you love unburdened by trollish worries and woes. And if you so desire, they will hunt for you, and defend you like you are there young, because, as people often forget, animals are dangerous predators.

Dangerous predators just like Gamzee, you think randomly, at a particularly sharp burst of pain.

You send a psychic signal of distress to all of the creatures within miles and miles.

\--> BE GAMZEE MAKARA

A mile away, in the middle of the forest, you drop your clubs and scream bloody murder when a pulse of alarm, panic, agony, grief, and desperation floods through your thinkpan.

It lasts for about five seconds, but your head doesn't completely clear even minutes after it has happened, your ears continuing to ring and blurs warping your vision.

At first, you wonder if one of the lowbloods has some kind of incredible psychic power, but the vaguely awed looks on their faces suggest otherwise. Besides, Equius looks confused but completely unaffected.

Then you realize that you already know a lowblood with incredibly powerful psychic powers, and you put two-and-two together and the realization makes your blood run cold.

Your little miracle is in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the Captain: I used Nektan simply because I needed a violetblooded character to fill this role and he fit. There's not much information about him and I know that canonically, he's probably not so cruel, but let's all just assume that because of the harsh context in which this story takes place, he turns out rotten, okay? }:o/
> 
> So...what did you think...? *fidgets restlessly*


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11/26/2017: New illustration for this chapter! This is my favorite one so far :3 https://yzydragon2222.deviantart.com/art/He-BuRiEs-HiS-fAcE-iNtO-yOuR-cHeSt-717027352

Chapter 9

\--> BE EQUIUS ZAHHAK

You have never been so uncomfortable, and so baffled, and in so much agony, in your entire life. You reflect on the past several hours that led you up to this point:

You suppose you should have seen it coming, the moment the captain assigned you on a mission with the highblood, of all people. THAT highblood. Gamzee Makara.

The purpleblood was infamous for his capriciousness. Despite that, his wrath had never been directed towards you before, and though you didn't exactly approve of his...messy tendencies, it was never your place to voice your disapproval for a higher-blood, and you got along with him--not well, but peacefully enough.

You didn't want to intrude upon his tent. But the captain said, "Make sure Makara hurries his ass up," and the captain is a violetblood and even higher than purple so of course you had to abide to his wishes before Gamzee's.

You would have been uncomfortable, maybe even disgusted, if you had found said subjugglator torturing the lowblood, or interrogating him, or even just taunting him. But it would have been acceptable.

What was not acceptable was what you found before your eyes: the infamously coldhearted descendant of the Grand Highblood holding the lowblood in his arms, combing his hair with knobbly long fingers in a manner that screamed red but was not lewd, whispering sweetly into his ear, holding him so tightly yet so tenderly as though the lowblood were his most precious possession.

It appalled you, and in a corner of your thinkpan that you don't want to admit having, it warmed your bloodpusher.

Of course, you had no time to dwell on those thoughts upon your untimely interruption of the highblood and the lowblood because the highblood then tried to kill you via strangulation.

That being said, you should be dead. The highblood, as far as you know, does not leave things hanging, and you would be far from the first or last of his victims.

But then the lowblood had the gall to give the highblood a command--"GAMZEE, STOP!" he said, and the highblood actually obeyed. And because of that, you are alive.

You are alive because of a lowblood's mercy.

You are stuck between incredulous gratefulness and wanting to bleed out all your nobly high indigo blood from your body and washing the disgrace of this event from it.

Because of this, you were rather distracted as you and the highblood made your way through the woods towards the place that the injured scout said he encountered four lowbloods. But, judging by the dazed look on his face, so was Gamzee.

You arrived too late to save either one of your indigoblood comrades. You and Gamzee approached the four lowbloods from behind a tree as discreetly as you could, just as an incredibly short, nubby-horned lowblood dragged a large sickle through your blueblood comrade's gut. You didn't really feel sorry; you weren't close to any of the other bluebloods (or anyone else, really) on the platoon. What a disgraceful death, to have died at the hands of a lowblood.

What a disgraceful life you live, to have been spared at the hands of a lowblood, a traitorous voice whispered in your head.

You expected Gamzee to jump out from behind the tree with his psychotic smile and preach about making a lowblood rainbow, because he was always one for loud, flashy entrances. But he surprised you, yet again, and instead remained hidden, transfixed by the sight of the four enemy trolls in front of you.

"Fuck this! I am NOT looking forward to cleaning all this fucking blood off of this thing," the nubby-horned one exclaimed, waving his bloodied weapon in the air. He put it away and took out a small device. He looked at the screen and his already-furrowed brows furrowed further. "Oh are you fucking kidding me. If there are any deities out there, they sure do like to take all of the plans that I fucking shat out of my ass with tear-inducing pain and precious time, turn them around and fuck them sideways."

"What's wrong, Karkitty?", purred a little troll with pointy horns and very long--were those claws?

"Kanaya is what's fucking wrong. She's fucking went in already." He threw his hands up in distress. "Looks like it's time to haul our asses someplace safe and wait for her to get the idiot."

"There are theveral caves in thith area, we should be able find one that'th thuitable for waiting out the day," said a lowblood with odd-looking red-and-blue shades.

A curly-horned female (the sight of whom made you sweat, for some reason) sighed and said, "We should go quickly before the sun comes up. We need to find a cave that isn't already inhabited by some wild beast." She sighed again and said, "If only Tavros were here to help us with that."

You see Gamzee stiffen beside you.

The nubby-horned one started to say, "Yeah, well if it weren't for that fuckwit why would we be here in the first place--"

But he never got to finish, because Gamzee chose that moment to suddenly step out of the trees. The four lowbloods swiveled around in surprise at his sudden appearance.

Gamzee's juggling pins were clutched tightly in his fists, but they weren't raised, weren't poised for battle.

"I know you motherfuckers," he said in a voice that could only be described as dreamy. "I seen you motherfuckers in my miracle bro's head about a thousand motherfucking times. You're his miracle brothers and sisters. But I ain't never found out how your blood looks on the inside, or how you sound when you all up and die." Gamzee took a swallow. "I didn't want to find out the real way, though."

"SWEET FUCKING JEGUS," the nubby-horned one hollered. "THE UNIVERSE MUST HATE ME. OF ALL FUCKING TROLLS. THE FUCKING. PURPLEBLOOD. THIS IS HOW WE'RE GONNA FUCKING DIE. CHUCKLEVOODOO'D OUT OF OUR ASSES IN THE MIDDLE OF FUCKING NOWHERE WHERE NO ONE WILL FIND US OR REMEMBER OUR SORRY PATHETIC LIVES."

Taking no chances, you stepped out of the trees and drew your bow and arrow and shot at the nubby-horned lowblood. Your arrow sank into his side--you missed anything remotely fatal, if only because he was flailing around too much in his rant. His injury did nothing to deter him, however, and he let out a long stream of curses. "OH THE UNIVERSE ISN'T EVEN FUCKING ME SIDEWAYS ANYMORE. IT'S GOT ME TIED UPSIDE DOWN LIKE SOME PSYCHOTIC KISMESIS AS IT IMPALES MY ASS OVER AND OVER. NOT JUST THE PURPLEBLOOD BUT ANOTHER ONE TOO?"

You were distracted from fighting for a few seconds when he pulled out your arrow from where it was imbedded in his ribs--and it was covered in candy red blood.

Not even--a lowblood--

In your distraction, something sharp and stinging flared at your leg and you turned to see the attractive curly-horned female brandishing a whip at you, her long-lashed eyes cold and determined. Focus, Equius, you told yourself as you began to sweat. You raised your fist and prepared to swing it at her, your STRENGTH more than enough to kill her in one barehanded blow--

You were suddenly frozen in place, and then thrown back against the ground with surprising force. You struggled to pick yourself up and saw electricity crackling beside you. Psionic powers, you realized. Of course the lowbloods would play dirty. You saw the troll with bicolored glasses standing next to the curly-horned female, hissing, "Not my moirail, athhole."

You chanced a glance at Gamzee, wondering how he was doing, and why he wasn't using his chucklevoodoos yet.

You saw him fighting half-heartedly at best, the troll with the long claws pouncing around him this way and that, teeth bared like a cat, as he stepped around and avoided her, but he was barely swinging his clubs at all, mostly only doing so defensively.

And then something happened that you never thought you would ever witness.

The catlike troll quite literally sprang up onto Gamzee's shoulders and before he could stop her, slashed her claws through his face.

You could tell she wavered for a second before springing off of him again, disbelieving of what she had just done.

No one who wasn't a purpleblood had ever spilled purple blood before.

Subjugglators spilled blood and painted rainbows with it. But no one, unless it was another subjugglator, managed to get close enough to this particular brand of highblood to even scratch them.

Which this little female troll had quite literally done.

Something really must have been...off with the highblood.

There were several seconds of silence, during which he brought his hand up to his face and caught some of his own berry-colored blood with his fingers. He looked at it as though he had never seen his own blood before. There was no pain or anger or shock registering in his expression, just--awe.

The catlike one was slowly backing away, the slightest quiver in her step, as though only just realizing what she had done, and preparing herself for whatever wrath the highblood would choose to unleash on her for marring his face.

And then, all of a sudden, the highblood dropped like a fly, knees buckling as he fell to the ground, hands clutching not his face but his head and releasing a truly terrifying, feral howl.

The four lowbloods, and you, had all stopped moving now. It seemed that Gamzee was not alone in whatever mental fit he was having. It was like the entire forest had awoken at once, for suddenly, birds were flapping wildly and singing in frenzied song, insects dropping from the trees, and beasts wailing and yowling as though in pain, just like Gamzee was.

Five seconds later, the highblood stopped screaming and went completely still. The woods around you continue to titter on a nervous, melancholic note.

The lowbloods whispered loudly among one another, and you heard the feline troll say, "That was Tafuros! It had to be! Only he could do something like that!"

The highblood seemed triggered by her words, and with chilling abruptness stood up and you saw his eyes flash. The four lowbloods suddenly yelped, but their cries only lasted for about a second before each of them slumped to the ground.

The highblood swiftly stooped and picked up the nubby-horned one in his arms, and you couldn't help but notice that a bit of that mutant red blood got smeared on Gamzee's uniform. Were they dead?

Then he turned to look at you, and you shivered at the painful-looking gashes that ran diagonally across his face, the purple blood stark against his white-and-grey face paint.

"Pick those motherfuckers up, lowblood," he commanded you.

You swiftly did as you were told, picking up the feline one and the psionic one and heaving each of them over a shoulder. Definitely not dead, if the steady rise and fall of their chests was any indication. Asleep? You didn't know his chucklevoodoos could send people to sleep so easily. The lowbloods' weight was nothing to you, you were STRONG. You took the curly-horned one in your arms and tried not to look at her too much. Or feel the way she felt under your hands. Or sweat.

You assumed that the highblood intended to return to camp with the lowbloods as prisoners, but it soon became apparent that was not the case. Or at least, that he was going in the wrong direction.

"Highblood, pardon my...interruption, but this is not the correct direction back to camp--"

"Shut your MOTHERFUCKING TRAP," he growled, without looking at you.

He walked at a fast pace, as though in a hurry, and although it was only too easy for you to keep up, you were nervous about his intentions.

A few minutes later, the highblood had managed to find a small, dry cave. Seems like the psionic was right about there being caves in the area. It looked empty and uninhabited, but with wild animals you never know.

He put the nubby-horned lowblood--no, mutant--down onto the ground, and then looked at you impatiently as you stood there awkwardly with the three other lowbloods in your arms.

Finally, he said, "Put them motherfucking down."

You did as you were told, your eyes lingering on the curly-horned female. Then you stood back up at attention, wondering what the highblood wanted next.

"If you motherfucking hurt them, IF THEY AREN'T MOTHERFUCKING ALIVE when I all up and come back to this bitchtits hideout, I will drain every DROP of that DIRTY DARK-BLUE BLOOD from your stinkin' carcass and FEED it to you till you MOTHERFUCKING CHOKE. I will skin every inch of you piece by piece until you MOTHERFUCKING WISH you were never hatched. I will take that there BOW of yours and use the MOTHERFUCKING DRAWSTRING TO STRANGLE YOU TO THE DEATH and there won't be no miracle to stop me."

You shuddered convulsively, because you could hear the promise in every single one of his threatening words, but before you had a chance to properly respond, the highblood turned around at started jogging away at a brisk pace. Desperate, you called out to him. "W-wait, highblood--"

"What the MOTHERFUCK DO YOU WANT NOW?"

"Do you expect me to just...stay here--"

"Didn't I make myself MOTHERFUCKING CLEAR, LOWBLOOD? I SAID those miracle brothers and sisters' MOTHERFUCKING BLOODPUSHERS better be pushing that lowblood liquid of life through their bitchtits little lowblood bodies when I come back or I will CULL YOU."

"But...when do you intend to return?"

"When-motherfucking-ever I can. I gotta go to my Tavbro first before I can motherfucking think of coming back. So YOU make sure that these here motherfuckers get water and food and don't MOTHERFUCKING GET EATEN BY SOME WILDER-BEAST BECAUSE THAT WOULDN'T BE NO MIRACLE FOR TAVBRO."

You suddenly realize that by this he means that he could be gone for anywhere from a few hours to an indeterminate number of days before he returned. "But highblood--I can't stay here--"

"Why the MOTHERFUCK CAN'T YOU?" he snarled. "I TOLD YOU TO AND YOU SHOULD OBEY. You motherfucking can't stay here, brother, because you motherfucking WILL STAY HERE."

"The captain--" you struggled desperately, despite your mounting terror of the bleeding purpleblood before you. "He ordered us...to dispose of the lowbloods--and then return to camp as soon as possible--"

"The captain?" Gamzee spat in a loathing tone. "You motherfucking care what that MOTHERFUCKER ALL UP AND TOLD YOU TO DO but you can't obey a SIMPLE COMMAND FROM ME?"

"It's not that I want to...disobey you, highblood," you said, bowing your head. You are taller than Gamzee, but his stature at that moment made you feel small. "But the captain is our higher-up and higher on the hemospectrum than you are, so naturally, I must--"

You didn't see it coming, but even if you had, could you really have done anything to avoid it? Gamzee swung his club at you all of a sudden, and you registered a sharp CRACK before white blinded your eyes as you dropped to the ground (next to that curly-horned female), agony exploding from broken, torn nerves in your head--no not your head, your horn, and you see shattered bits of something orange yellow rolling in front of you, spattered with indigo blood and you realize, that's your horn, he BROKE YOUR HORN--

"SHUT THE FUCK UP," he thundered, and his voice is so commanding that even through your haze of pain you look up at him and listen. You've seen Gamzee unhinged plenty of times but you don't think you've ever seen him this unhinged. "Listen closely, motherfucker. UNDER ME, THERE IS NO HEMOSPECTRUM. None of it matters because I AM THE PROPHET OF THE MOTHERFUCKING MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS and they up and gave me my MIRACLE BROTHER IN THE FORM OF A TINY LITTLE SHITBLOOD BROTHER. There is only one voice you listen to you, LOWBLOOD, and that is MY MOTHERFUCKING VOICE."

He sounded so powerful at the moment, and even though you were shaking on the ground and in pain you can't help but nod. He looked down at you for a moment longer, storms brewing in those purple eyes, and then he turned around and in a flash he was gone.

Here you are now, lying in some cave with four lowbloods, one and a half horns left. You shift your body so that you can look at that curly-horned female, because amidst all this confusion the sight of her makes you the slightest bit calmer for some reason, albeit much sweatier.

\--> BE ERIDAN AMPORA

Even though you have absolutely no sympathy for Makara's dirty shitblood, you are disgusted as you watch your two fellow violetbloods' display. Highbloods like you are supposed to be respectable! Refined! Admirable! Pulling out your bulge and fucking a lowblood whore is something you do in the privacy of your own respiteblock, thank you very much! You don't just do it in front of the whole fuckin' camp like some sex-deprived asswipe! Especially if said whore is a cripple! How desperate do you have to be to even think of resorting to banging someone like that?

You clench your fists when you think of the way Fef humiliated herself trying to save the lowblood. Look at her now, getting tears in her eyes as she watches the lowblood with pity. Her display disgusts you--she's a fuckin' fuchsiablood, what's she thinking? But it also makes your bloodpusher clench with sadness to see her so miserable.

You shake your head bitterly. It's not like you didn't try to warn her! It's all that shitty lowblood's fault, giving Fef all sorts of wrong ideas and making her put her head in the wrong place.

You should have seen the signs ever since the beginning of your moirallegiance with Fef (moirallegiance, you think angrily, even though you were--still are--so red for her you were practically an exploding bright red cherry, for cod's sake, and she still didn't notice, and now you're not even moirails anymore, you're nothing). Fef wasn't cut out for the battlefield! I mean--of course not! She's fuchsia! But you were so swept away by a strong female fuchsia bravely taking charge of her own fate that you never did anything about it. Well, time to a put an end to that, Ampora. If this is how distraught Fef's going to get just because one pathetic little shitblood's getting fucked (as he well should be, that's what shitbloods are for, anyway!), you're going to have to do something about it.

(You also wonder why she's getting so upset about it now, of all times. She's been seeing the shitblood for weeks, and whatever's happening to him now can't be worse that what Makara's been doing, right? I mean, your fellow violetbloods are indeed acting like ruffians but Makara, he's different, he's just sick to the core.)

You decide to stop watching this circus shitshow and to return to your tent. Your skyhorse lusus is in your tent, waiting to be fed. He's the only lusus in the camp. You don't care if the others whisper that you're a goddamn wiggler for bringing you fuckin' lusus to war because your lusus, unlike theirs, is actually useful! You always ride proudly on his back when you charge into battle, like a proud seadwelling knight.

You hear a loud, painful wail and you take one last look at what Nektan's doing. Oh for cod's sake, he's just shoved his bulge up the shitblood's nook and now the shitblood's screaming (you have to admit, he did an impressive job of keeping quiet throughout the entire ordeal).

You turn back towards your tent, but then something happens. From your tent, there's suddenly a loud rustling noise and before you know it, your seahorse lusus is suddenly charging out of the tent. What the hell? Your lusus is always calm and regal (just like you!), and since arriving at this camp he's known to stay put in your tent; even in battle, he is brave and levelheaded and never impulsive--why the hell is he flipping his shit now?

You wave your arm at him to get his attention but he rushes past you without a glance. "Whoa!" you yell. Okay seriously what the FUCK.

You watch openmouthed as your lusus barrels through the crowd, knocking quite a few people aside. The shit-for-brains captain, who is still buried deep inside the shitblood, takes notice when it's too late and gets knocked roughly aside and skids a few feet on the ground, and you would facepalm at the way his bulge flails wildly in the open air for all to see if it were not the fact that you are preoccupied with WHAT THE FLYIN' FUCK IS SEAHORSEDAD DOING?

You continue to gape as Seahorsedad stands protectively in front of the shitblood, YOUR LUSUS IS FUCKING DEFENDING A SHITBLOOD, huffing threateningly at Nektan. It appears Nektan has had the wind knocked out of him because he wheezes a few times and struggles to get up, but once he gets a good look at Seahorsedad, he hollers, "AMPORA! WHAT THE FUCK? YOU TOLD ME YOUR FUCKING LUSUS WAS UNDER CONTROL!" He seems to think the situation is a good enough turn-off and you are grateful when he shoves his bulge back in his pants and zips them up; if you had to look at his fuckin' bulge for any longer you think you would have been sick. "THAT'S THE ONLY FUCKING REASON I LET YOU BRING HIM, YOU GODDAMN WIGGLER!"

Although you too are appropriately baffled by Seahorsedad's behavior, you are still offended. "Shut the fuck up, Nektan! You knoww better than anyone else that my skyhorse has been nothin' but an asset to our troops, and he's nevver been out of line before. I don't know wwhat's gotten into him."

Seahorsedad turns around and acknowledges the shitblood for a second before turning back and flying towards you. He stops in front of you and gives you the look he gave you when you were younger that said you were very much in big trouble. You don't let him get to you, you're an adult now and it's HIM who's being out of line. "Wwhat the fuck wwas that all about?" you hiss at him. "That wwas the captain you just knocked ovver! And that--" you point at the cripple still displayed helplessly on the four-wheel device--"is a fuckin' shitblood! He's the enemy! You're not supposed to be--defendin' him!"

Seahorsedad angrily transmits a jumbled series of thoughts to you, and though there is clearly a LOT that he wants to express, you focus on the most important bit of what he's spewing at you.

"You mean to say...that that shitblood wwas communing wwith you?"

Seahorsedad continues to transmit garbled thoughts to you but you've stopped paying attention to your lusus. You are disturbed. You don't know much, nor do you care much, about lowblood psychic abilities, but from what you've gathered through the sweeps, brownbloods have the ability to commune with animals (how fuckin' savage), though the normal extent of that is to train a barkbeast extra well, or something pathetic like that. Lots of highbloods bought bronzeblood slaves for entertainment value to show off with cheap animal-related tricks, but you were never one for such frivolities.

Lusii are a different category altogether--they're technically still creatures but with almost the intelligence of trolls. You've never heard of an ability like communing with one. Not fuckin' normal--

You don't get to finish that thought because there are suddenly screams of terror rising up from all around you, and when you look up HOLY FUCK when did Makara come back? And then suddenly your head is in crippling pain and your knees crumple beneath you--Makara is letting his chucklevoodoos sing everywhere, unrestrained, and through the haze of your pain you see that every single troll in the vicinity is wailing and sobbing under the effects of his psychic powers. You feel loud, cruel, frightening laughter echoing in your thinkpan over and over and you see flashes of terrifying images, of yourself dead and sawed in half, of Feferi's lifeless corpse, no no no no no STOP STOP STOP--

He's in one of his brutal fits again, but there's something different about him this time. His killing sprees are usually gleeful rituals for him, and he is happy as long as he gets as much rainbowsplatter on his clubs as possible. He doesn't usually unleash his chucklevoodoos, and when he does, you feel it in the form of a painful pressure on the back of your head, but not a full-force dose of terror like this. How is he so fuckin' strong? Chucklevoodoos aren't supposed to work as well on violet and fuchsiabloods, because you're higher than purple.

The pain lessens somewhat and you are able to shakily get up, and you see Makara seizing the captain by his collar and shout in his face, "YOU MOTHERFUCKING WENT INTO MY PRIVATE TENT-QUARTERS AND TOOK WHAT WAS MINE."

"Makara!" the captain shouts back, clearly struggling under the weight of the purpleblood's chucklevoodoos but still managing some semblance of authority in his tone. "Release me this instant!"

If anything Makara only holds on tighter. "You filled a MOTHERFUCKING BUCKET with a MIRACLE'S TEARS, BITCH. In the name of the MOTHERFUCKING MIRTHFUL MESSIAH'S SCRIPTURES THERE AIN'T ANY SIN LOWER THAN THAT."

"I've had enough of your wishy-washy talk of miracles and stupid clowns," the captain says. "If you don't release me now I will report you to the Capitol as unfit for service. I'm only warning you once, Makara!"

Makara laughs, bone-chilling and humorless. "THE MOTHERFUCKING SERVICE, BITCH. Do you motherfucking think I care about the BLASPHEMOUS SERVICE THAT DARED TO TOUCH MY MIRACLE? The motherfucking mirthful messiahs graced our MOTHERFUCKING PRESENCES with a SHITBLOODED BROTHER to try to teach your unfaithful self of the meaning of miracles AND YOU DIDN'T JUST DISRESPECT IT, YOU VIOLATED THEIR RIGHTEOUS GIFT AND TREATED IT LIKE MOTHERFUCKING MIRTH. You don't know the meaning of the miracle shit and real mirth, bitch. Do you want to know what REAL MIRTH feels like?"

"Makara, if this is the shitblood you're whining about fucking get over it. He's not fucking yours and as your superior I have the right to do what I fucking please. This one isn't even half-decent to be a pail slave and he's just--"

"He's just MOTHERFUCKIING WHAT?" Makara screams. "JUST MOTHERFUCKING WHAT, TELL ME, YOU MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT, I'VE BEEN TRYING TO FIGURE JUST WHAT THIS MOTHERFUCKING SHITBLOODED BROTHER OF A MIRACLE IS, JUST WHAT, MOTHERFUCKING WHAT--"

And then Makara loses it, and brings the clubs down on the captain's head, and there is a fountain of violet as Nektan screams. Makara continues to mercilessly clobber him until the captain's cries are pleading whimpers, and until he goes silent, and until his corpse is eerily still, and still Makara continues to beat the remains until violet sinews of shredded muscle, disintegrated intestines, and fragmented bone coats the ground, and the remains of Nektan's high-ranking uniform lies eerily in what couldn't be better described as a troll puddle.

And then he grabs another troll and does it again. And then does it again. And again. And again.

But you don't really care about those second, third, fourth, etc. fuckers because--holy fuck. Makara just killed the fuckin' captain.

\--> BE GAMZEE MAKARA

You are so angry, so MOTHERFUCKING ANGRY, that all you know is a rainbow-colored haze of rage and you don't even remember your own name. People are screaming but the voices in your head are also screaming, and you can't tell if it's the motherfucking mirthful messiahs or the voices of blasphemous demons but EVERYONE'S JUST MOTHERFUCKING LOUD, AND THIS ISN'T ENOUGH--

Someone is yelling, pleading, "Gamzee, please, Gamzee, stop! Gamzee, Gamzee..." and you wonder who Gamzee is, but then something soft descends over your thinkpan and the crashing waves of the storm inside your head calm a little bit, and the thunderclouds clear a little bit, and it makes you remember that your name is Gamzee and you turn to see your little miracle with tears streaming down his bronze cheeks, and he must be trying to calm you with his thinkpan, even though he should be the one in a state of motherfucking distress right now, not you. Suddenly your bloodpusher is contracting so painfully that you claw at your chest BECAUSE YOU CAN'T STAND THIS MOTHERFUCKING PAIN--

"Gamzee!" he yells, and that voice is music to your hear-ducts, and you don't even register that you've dropped your clubs and are running towards him until you drop to your knees in front of his four-wheel device. You see that he's managed to resituate his bare legs on the footrest. You fumble for his hands with your own blood drenched ones, and you cling to both his hands tightly as you always do when you need to know that he's there, that he's real.

"Gamzee...you came back..." he whispers, clinging to your hands as well, and his eyes, those beautiful wide eyes, are drinking in your presence hungrily.

"I came back because I motherfucking need you, Tavbro, I need you so motherfucking bad," you babble, and you don't even know what you're saying.

"What the fuck is he doing?" you hear people saying behind you, "Makara's really lost it this time, like for real--oh my fucking god, let's get out of here, he's killed the captain what's to say we're not next--" and for a moment the storm clouds congeal in your thinkpan once again and you turn to around to MAKE SOME MORE MOTHERFUCKING RAINBOW RIVERS but then Tavros squeezes your hands and yells, "Gamzee! Please...no, d-don't hurt them...anymore...."

You look at him and you can't believe how much pity he has in his bloodpusher. These people just hurt him in the worst possible way, THEY MOTHERFUCKING TOUCHED YOUR MIRACLE. "Why, Tavros?" you whisper. "Those MOTHERFUCKERS deserve to MOTHERFUCKING DIE by my RIGHTEOUS HANDS UNTIL THEIR ESSENCES ARE WEEPING ALL OVER THE GROUND the way they made those sad tears weep all over Tavbro's face from his miraculous eyes."

"P-please...Gamzee...not anymore..." he pleads with you, and how can you refuse him when he looks at you like that?

So you simply turn your head and order, "Every motherfucker has TEN SECONDS to abscond the motherfuck out of my vision path now before he becomes a motherfucking color river."

Perhaps due to the fact that they just saw you kill the captain, they obey your order rather swiftly.

You turn back to Tavros, who is staring at you with wide eyes. "They motherfucking touched you," you whisper to him. "I promised no motherfucker would touch my miracle and now my miracle is all up and hurt and sad and crying..." Unbidden, tears begin to stream down your own cheeks and their saltiness stings in the deep cuts that the lowblood girl gouged through your face. You can't help wincing.

"O-oh...oh my god, Gamzee..." Tavros says, "y-you're hurt! Y-you h-h-have to, go see F-Feferi--"

"No," you cut him off firmly. "I need this motherfucking pain. I need to remember the way this STING motherfucking feels because this is PUNISHMENT FOR EVERY SIN I'VE EVER COMMITTED in this motherfucker's worldly existence. There is no forgiveness for this motherfucker, Tavros. I left you alone and you got motherfucking hurt." And even in his state, he still looks at you with those worried eyes, as if a few cuts in your face can compare to the hurt those motherfuckers just inflicted upon his self.

"I-it's not your fault," he reassures you. "I'm j-just, s-so happy, that you're...here with me now, t-that you came back, I...I-I m-missed you, when y-you were gone."

Why is he the one giving you comfort? You carefully let go of his hands and stand up so that you can gather him up in your arms, and he immediately buries his face into your chest.

You can't stand the fact that the violetblood's secretions are still staining his skin, and you rush to the ablution traps and gently place him inside, and as you set him down you see him wince, and once again taking hold of his hands, you ask, "Does it motherfucking hurt?"

"I-It's, uh, o-okay--"

"Does it motherfucking HURT?"

He looks down and wrings his hands. "Yes," he whispers.

"Oh motherfucking god," you say. "This wasn't supposed to motherfucking happen. This wasn't supposed to motherfucking happen!"

"Gamzee..."

You turn on warm water in the ablution trap and you watch as a stream of violet genetic material and brown blood flows from between his legs.

He ducks his head in shame for the entire time that you are gently cleaning off his body. You make sure not to miss a spot, not even his long horns, from their sturdy base to tip. You saw the way that dirty violetbloods was getting his grab on with Tavros's beautiful horns.

Your little miracle is shaking rather violently and you don't know what to do. "Tavros..."

He doesn't respond, his head still bowed away from you. It's different from the embarrassment he usually displays when you assist him with ablutions. This time it's like the shame is so heavy around his neck that you can almost see it.

"Tavros, buddy, please, talk to me."

Slowly, he raises his eyes to you, and in a croaky voice, he mumbles, "W-why doesn't this body d-disgust you?"

You are taken aback. "What?"

"Why, would you do this for, why would you, touch, an ugly, shitblood, c-c-cripple like me...?"

Your nostrils flare. "Is that what that motherfucker told you? DID THAT MOTHERFUCKER TELL YOU THAT?"

He looks away from you again and doesn't answer directly. "W-well, b-but I was just, thinking, that, I w-wouldn't even be worth, a pail, slave--"

"TAVROS, LOOK AT ME." Startled by your tone, his eyes meet yours. "NEVER, EVER, MOTHERFUCKING SAY THAT AGAIN. If that's what the motherfucker told you then EVERY FUCKING WORD THAT EVER LEFT HIS PIE-HOLE WAS A MOTHERFUCKING LIE."

Tavros gives you an unconvincing nod, and suddenly you feel the need to express just how much of a motherfucking liar that violetblood was. You need to tell Tavros how much his body is worth.

"The miraculous act of pailing is for matesprits only," you tell him, and suddenly you realize you've told him this before, on the first night that he was here, when you brought him into your tent and he thought YOU were going to pail him, oh messiahs, you think you're going to be sick. "And even when this miracle up and finds himself a matesprit, his motherfucking matesprit would know just how much he doesn't deserve you, no motherfucker could deserve the motherfucking miracle that you are, Tavbro."

You take a hold of his hands again. "You see your motherfucking hands, Tavros? They're motherfucking miraculous, because of the way they always hold on so tight to this motherfucker's hand so I know you're here with me, man. Your motherfucking horns are miraculous because of how big and strong they are, and your motherfucking hair is miraculous because it's up and all so fluffy and all kinds of adorable shit. And those eyes are miraculous because they're big and wide and they light every time you open your motherfucking mouth, and that thinkpan of yours is miraculous when you up and do that bitchtits communing shit, and your bloodpusher is even more miraculous because it's got so much pity for every motherfucker, even hateful highblood motherfuckers who don't motherfucking deserve your pity."

His mouth is open in shock and awe but you don't let him say anything before you let go of his hands and carefully take hold of his legs. "And these legs, motherfucker, they're motherfucking miraculous because--"

"B-but G-Gamzee, my legs, they're n-not even, functional--"

"No, bro, I wasn't finished, these legs are motherfucking miraculous because they belong to this miraculous motherfucker that you are and because they helped him get his walk and his run on for sweeps before this, you had your walk on when we motherfucking met for the first time, Tavbro. And now they make you so motherfucking pitiable--"

"Y-you...think I'm...pitiable?"

His question gives you pause, because finding someone pitiable is something highly, highly intimate for trolls, and not at all taken lightly, but you already know your answer so you decide not to lie. "So motherfucking pitiable, Tavbro."

He falls silent, his mouth still open and gaping, and having finished getting him clean you wrap him up in several layers of towels (since his and your clothes are all heavily soiled) and lift him up in your arms again.

"And your blood," you say, leaning down and whispering into his hair, and you hear his breath hitch, "is brown and it's low but it's motherfucking miraculous, because it's all warm and rich like chocolate and shiny like bronze, and there ain't no other motherfucking color you would wear better."

He doesn't seem to have anything to say to that. Instead, his warm eyes well up with tears and shiny bronze leaks from them once again. You panic, "I didn't mean nothing by it, motherfucker--"

"I know," he tells you. "It's just--n-no one's ever, said a-anything, like that, about me, before..."

You carry him outside and you are glad to see that no one has chosen to linger outside. The sun's just starting to come up. "You wanna go see Fishsis, bro?"

To your surprise, he vehemently shakes his head. "N-no, I-I--" he chokes, "c-can we j-j-just go b-back to your tent, p-please?"

His reluctance to see Feferi, even though he's still in pain, raises your suspicions and you feel hairs rising up on the back of your neck. "Motherfucker. She didn't up and...do any shit to you while I was gone, did she?"

"N-no!" he cries. "No, it's n-not like that! It's just--" He struggles to find words. "She tried to, uh, stop them, from...doing it. I just, d-don't want to s-see anyone right n-now."

You are worried about his health, and about the broken foot that he can't feel but looks swollen and unpleasant, but you can understand his want for peace and quiet after an ordeal like that. "Do you want me to up and leave you to get your chill on, Tavbro?"

"No, no Gamzee, p-please, uh, stay, with m-me."

You are relieved to hear this, because the last thing you want to do is leave him alone again, so you carry him back to your tent. The colorful remains of your bloodbath from earlier are starting to smell, and your little miracle buries his face into your chest again as though trying to block out the sight and smell of it. You frown at his discomfort, because personally you enjoy the sight of those blasphemous motherfuckers smeared all over the ground like this. Why does Tavros has so much motherfucking pity for the undeserving in his bloodpusher?

His four-wheeled device is still outside, next to the overturned bucket (just seeing it almost makes you lose your shit again), and it needs a good wash-down before Tavros can be up and using it again. You awkwardly drag it into your tent with your foot and leave it in a corner near the entrance. You put Tavros, still bundled up in towels, on the humungous horn pile, before going back up to the tent entrance and tying it firmly shut so that no intruders can get in.

You quickly change out of your blood-stained uniform and walk over to the horn pile, lying yourself down next to Tavros. He immediately burrows himself close to you, and you don't hesitate to put your arms around him like a protective troll cocoon.

"I, am s-so happy, you came back," he tells you.

"Of course I motherfucking came back, Tavbro," you reassure. "I felt you getting your distress on all up in my thinkpan, I knew my miracle was in some shitty trouble."

He looks up at you with surprise. "Y-you, f-felt that?"

"I motherfucking did," you reply, surprised that he didn't even realize it. "My motherfucking thinkpan all up and got its hurt on, and all the animals around the woods were getting their crazy haywire shit on."

He looks down again. "I, d-didn't mean to...I am going to get, into, s-so much tr-trouble, for communing, with that seahorse lusus..."

You frown. "Wait, what?"

You think back to the scene you returned upon to see. You saw that captain motherfucker shoving parts of himself he wasn't supposed to be showing in public into your shaking, crying, screaming miracle's prone body...and then there was a skyhorse that came and knocked the captain out of the way, but by then you were already SO MOTHERFUCKING MAD that you didn't pay it any mind.

"That was Ampora's lusus? Motherfuck. How'd you commune with a lusus?"

"I..." He hesitates. "I...was always, uh, able to. I k-know it's, uh, weird, but, uh..."

"No, I think it's bitchtits, bro, I'm glad you were able to up and do something about...the motherfucking situation. And that Eridan motherfucker is Fishsis's motherfucking moirail, I'm sure she'll get on her underwater fish charm and calm him down."

But you are not too sure. Ampora has always been a bitter, angry, vengeful little motherfucker and he's always been particularly sensitive about his lusus, too. You won't be surprised if he continues to gripe about this incident for the next few sweeps and tries to get his hands on Tavros for daring to commune with the seahorse. That makes you hold onto your little brownblood tighter. You are still amazed that he can commune with motherfucking lusii, and a highblood one too, that's just...wow.

From the way Tavros is still shaking in your arms, you're guessing that he isn't reassured. "Hey, motherfucker," you say, "I promise I won't MOTHERFUCKING let any BITCHES touch you again. I'll never fucking leave your side if I have to. I need to keep my motherfucking miracle safe." You hate yourself for having to make this new promise, having broken the first one of not letting ANYONE EVER touch Tavros only minutes after you made it.

But Tavros sighs deeply into your chest in a defeated manner. "T-thank you, G-Gamzee, you have...no idea, how much that, means to me, but y-you don't have to make me, any promises."

"What? Why can't this motherfucker make a promise to a brother?" Your expression darkens. "Do you not believe it when I say this motherfucker will KEEP ANYONE FROM TOUCHING YOU?"

"N-no, I, completely believe you, but the fact is, that your promises are all, k-kind of impossible, to keep, and I d-don't want you, to be hurt, because you were trying to keep a promise to a lowblood," he says. "And I'm sorry, that I already, made you break, one of your promises, to me."

"What the MOTHERFUCK? What do you have your apology on for?"

He doesn't answer you for a long while, and when he does, his voice is a nearly unintelligible murmur. "I was...too weak, I c-couldn't, do anything, to stop him..."

You look at him disbelievingly. "It ain't no motherfucker's fault except for THAT MOTHERFUCKER WHO THOUGHT IT WOULD BE MOTHERFUCKING OKAY TO PAIL A BROTHER AGAINST HIS MOTHERFUCKING WILL! And it ain't no fault but mine for making and breaking a promise, Tavbro."  
"W-why do you even think...I'm worth protecting, Gamzee?"

It's so obvious to you, why he's worth protecting, that it really baffles you how can't see it. Then again, it seems that no one else on this motherfucking camp can see it either. "Because you're a motherfucking miracle, Tavbro. There ain't no motherfucker like you. You can fight a blueblood's mind powers and withstand my mirthful chucklevoodoos and you do it all with the pity and goodness in your bloodpusher, it's like the messiahs took the pity of ten trolls and put it all in the one tiny little motherfucker that you are. You can get your talk on with animals and motberfucking lusii and your thinkpan is just the warmest thing when it's all up in and settling in mine. You're the first motherfucker who could up and smile the way you do at this motherfucker without all that nasty hatred and negative shit towards my bitchin' self, even though I'm supposed to be your motherfucking enemy. And everything about you is just so...motherfucking pitiable."

His cheeks turn bronze and there it is again, that smile. "Y-you're the only one, who has ever, ever, thought that about me," he says. "Even my Low Side friends never, never..."

But a crestfallen look falls over his face again. "But you're the only one, who thinks that about me, here. Everyone else would, um, gladly do, what the captain, was doing to me, earlier..."

"Well every single one of them can GO TO HELL."

"Um, Gamzee, I don't think, that is a scenario, that is possible..."

"Then I won't leave your motherfucking side," you say. "I'll stay right here all motherfucking DAY AND NIGHT and if any motherfucker dares come CLOSE, I WILL MOTHERFUCKING CULL THEM."

"But Gamzee, surely, you are going to be sent, on another mission, sooner or later--"

"I won't go on any MOTHERFUCKING LOWBLOOD-KILLING MISSION," you announce. "I killed the motherfucking captain. He ain't in charge of what I all up and choose to MOTHERFUCKING DO."

"But they'll just...replace him, with another one, who probably won't be, uh, too happy with what you did, to the last one..."

"If I can beat this one until his VIOLET LIFE JUICES SPILLED ALL OVER THE MOTHERFUCKING GROUND, then I can DO THE SAME MOTHERFUCKING THING TO THE NEXT ONE."

"W-wouldn't you, eventually get in trouble, for d-doing that?"

"This motherfucker doesn't care, they can all up and discharge my ass--"

But you pause. Before, you wouldn't have given a shit if they chose to bring you back to the city. You never gave a fuck about the war, anyway. You just wanted your mirth and miracles and messiahs.

But if you got in trouble now, what would that mean for Tavros? What if he went back to the city with you? He'd be with you but he'd still be friendless, and the city highblood folk wouldn't hesitate to hurt him, and it's already hard enough here, in army camp, where you don't interact with other trolls half as much as you would have to back in the city. Not to mention that you would have to be around other purpleblood subjugglators back in the city all the time, and if you are honest with yourself you would trust them the least with Tavros (not that you trust him with anybody).

And then Tavros says, "And...what if you have to go to fight in a battle? When your platoon, decides to leave this camp, I can't really move, or fight, or anything..."

You can't believe this hadn't occurred to you at all. You've gotten used to the few idle weeks you've had here in camp, but when it's time to mobilize the troop, what then? Tavros is a prisoner of war, and there's a reason why prisoners of war are usually sent to special prison camps or killed. Or forced to fight on the front lines for the High Side, and even though that's the last thing you want for Tavros to have to do (it would be a suicide mission), it wouldn't even be possible for him if he had to. He's disabled. There's literally no viable way for you to keep him. Not even as a slave (not that you want to)--there's a reason all these highbloods left their slaves at home, after all.

And even, EVEN, if you could somehow hide him away somewhere while you were fighting, could you really come back to him after killing his lowblood comrades and still expect him not to hate you? After working so hard trying to get his despise on for you, now that is the last thing you want.

Are you even capable of killing lowbloods anymore? You sure couldn't tonight. You were so distracted that his lowblood friend managed to nearly scratch your face off. And now they're holed up in that cave where you left them (with Equius, of all damned people, but for some reason you trust that he won't disobey your word), very much alive.

Now that you think back on them, all of them were rather feisty. Even though they're all lowbloods, they're so different from your Tavros. But of course. Your Tavros is special. And you know Tavros loves them more than anything.

And suddenly the answer comes to you so clearly. You look Tavros straight in the eye and say, "Motherfucker, let's abscond."

He stares at you for a long time, eyes wide and unblinking, and you begin to think that he either hasn't heard you or you've broken his thinkpan somehow.

"Motherfucker, let's abscond," you repeat.

He finally blinks at you, owlishly, and then he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finally rasps, "You'd...just leave? All of your comrades...the High Side, you'd just, leave? Just like that?"

"It'd be worth it, for you," you say.

He splutters. "B-b-but...why?"

You frown, and realize that for Tavros, who cares so much about the Low Side even though he doesn't even completely agree with their philosophy, it must be difficult to understand how easy it is for you to leave High Side military life behind. You don't know why you feel that this is a good time for storytime, but you start telling him your history, from your lusus-less childhood, to your sopor addiction, to your subjugglator conscription, all the way to your involuntary enlistment in the military. You feel a bit...silly, at first, talking about yourself, but Tavros listens rapturously with curious eyes, so you don't stop. And while you retell your story, you feel your chest growing so much lighter for some reason, as though a heavy weight you didn't know was there has been lifted off.

When you've caught up with the present, you whistle lowly and say, "I never really cared about the hemospectrum all specific-like, you know? I had all this motherfucking power and the reason I had that power was because I was a purpleblood, so I never got to seeing what was wrong with that lowblood highblood separation and blood caste shit. I didn't give a motherfuck about the war because I really only gave a motherfuck for myself and my messiahs and my miracles. I still don't care about nothing else but my miracle has got a name now, it's motherfucking Tavros Nitram and I care about that, so if the High Side thinks it's okay to get their hurt and hate on for my Tavros Nitram, then, well, fuck the High Side."

Tavros's eyes grow immeasurably large when he hears that, and you suddenly feel a bit sheepish. It's like he can't believe a highblood actually just said that. You cough awkwardly and duck your face into his adorable mohawk, and say, "Shit, bro, I'm motherfucking sorry, I just up and heaved a shitload of heavy stuff on your motherfucking self--"

But then you feel curls of comfort in your thinkpan and Tavros smiles up at you.

"You don't have to do that bitchtits communing shit with me, even though it's pretty motherfucking bitchtits, I'm all good and you shouldn't waste your energy after a long night--"

"Gamzee, it's okay," he smiles warmly. "That doesn't, uh, use much energy, at all. It's only because, uh, um..." His ears start turning bronze. "I think you're, uh, pitiable, too."

Of all the things you might have expected him to say, this was definitely not one of them. You feel purple rising up to your own face, which suddenly makes you conscious of what a mess you must look like right now, between the smeared face paint and your tears and the three bleeding scratches.

"Why?" you ask.

"Because of how lonely, you've been, for your, uh, whole life. My lusus was my, uh, everything, even though I grew up, around a lot of other people. I can't imagine what it would be like, without Tinkerbull, if there was no one else around me, at all," he says. "And then the subjugglators that came for you, don't sound very friendly, which is probably, not the best way to, uh, phrase that, and coming on and off sopor sounds very, very bad, for you, and also, very painful, and it's also, um, very not fair, that you had to join the army, even though, you didn't want to..."

"But what about the part about me killing motherfuckers? That ain't pitiable."

"I already knew, before, that you killed, uh, motherfuckers, as you put it, but to be fair, those, uh, motherfuckers were never very, kind, to you, and I think that was the only way you knew how to, interact with them, by retaliating, against them, and maybe all you needed was someone to, care about you, because it seems like, no one, did...

"But uh, Gamzee, I, uh, I care about you, and I want to, be your friend, so you don't have to worry about, being alone, anymore..."

You didn't realize how deeply his words would affect you, but suddenly, you are crying again, and you are thanking the mirthful messiahs for this unbelievable miracle wanting to be your friend after everything you've done to him, and you know that you could have been given no clearer sign by the messiahs that you are meant to hold on to this little brownblood and never, ever let go. "Tavbro...no motherfucker's ever up and said anything like that to me neither," you sigh into his hair, and he hugs you.

It's only several long minutes later that you realize the issue of absconding has not been resolved. "So motherfucker, let's abscond," you murmur.

This time, he gives a sad little laugh. "Where would we even go?" he says, obviously not believing the plausibility of the idea one bit. You frown.

"We could all up and go find your motherfucking lowblood miracle brothers and sisters," you say. "I promised you would see them again and I intend to keep that one."

"We don't even know where they are--"

"No Tavbro, I'm serious," you say, and he stops because he seems to catch your tone. "I up and ran into those motherfuckers earlier. They were the motherfuckers I was sent to take care of."

"W-what?" He has a look of horror painted on his face, and after a moment's confusion you realize that he thinks you killed them.

"No, motherfucker, they're alive!" you reassure him. "I couldn't up and kill them, not after I saw how much you care about those miracle sisters and bros. I took them to a safe cave and told Equius--he's that big-ass blueblood--to keep them alive. I'm pretty motherfucking sure he will obey because he's clear what the consequences are if he hurts those motherfuckers."

"They're okay?" he shrieks, joy lacing his voice. "Oh my god. Oh my god! What were they even doing here?"

"Well, one of them, this short shouty one, he might be a little worse for wear because one of Equius's motherfucking arrows hit him, but he was still screaming and kicking like a motherfucker."

"Karkat," he whispers in awe.

"That the motherfucker's name?" you grin. "And one of them all up and jumped on me like a kitty-cat, only it was a really mean kitty-cat, and, ha, messed up this motherfucker's face."

"Nepeta," he whispers. "Uh, sorry about her, and, uh, your face."

"No motherfucking sweat. We can go get our motherfucking find on for those motherfuckers, Tavbro. They probably won't like me but at least I know that ain't out to get my miracle here, they'll help protect him," you say.

Tavros opens his mouth to respond, incredulity still written all over his face, but before he gets the chance to say anything there are footsteps outside your tent."

"Gamzee!" hissed Fishsis's voice. "It's me, Feferi!"

"Go away, Fishsis, Tavbro doesn't want visitors at the motherfucking moment," you call, hugging Tavros close to you.

"I know, I know, but this can't wait! It's like reely, reely, reeeeely important! And urgent!"

"Seriously Makara, like right now," comes the blind chick's voice. You frown, what are they doing together at this hour? "Also, it smells so bad out here, I think I'm gonna puke."

Then a third voice speaks, a female one that you don't recognize. "Tavros? Are you in there? Are you all right?"

You bare your teeth threateningly, furious at Fishsis and the blind chick for daring to bring a stranger. But then Tavros grabs your hand and squeezes it very tightly, and you look at him and shock is written all over his face.

"Kanaya," he breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two new highblood POVs! Wow. We've now covered all the highblood POVs at least once }:oO What'd y'all think? I hope you enjoyed the Gamzee/Tavros interaction this chapter };o) I had fun writing that }:o)
> 
> Also, it looks like this story's gonna be pretty damn long. I have a tendency to obsess over detail and spew out way too many WoRdS. Forgive me if the pace gets sluggish. Let me know if I need to speed the fuck up. I mean, holy fuck, we're nine chapters and several tens of thousands of words in. Jegus.
> 
> aLSO,,, I figured out how to make format the Pesterchum text, and I think it looks MoThErFuCkInG, uHHH, cOOL,,, *check out the end of Chapter 7*


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOUBLE-DIGIT CHAPTER MY MAIN MOTHERFUCKERS! A'ight, so: this chapter is probably shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. I ran into a million stumps writing it which is why it's taken me so long to upload. And now not only is it long overdue but it is also LONG PERIOD. Like more than 10,000 fucking words long. Enjoy this huge block of text or don't.

Chapter 10

\--> BE KANAYA MARYAM

Terezi tried to make conversation with you while the fuchsiablood, Feferi, tried to do damage control with the Tavros situation outside, but you were too preoccupied and suspicious to talk.  You didn't know how to feel when Feferi returned to her tent, ashen-faced but with fuchsia tear stains on her cheeks, and when both you and Terezi turned to her with questioning looks on your faces, she simply shook her head and said, "I tried to stop them and it didn't work.  But then Gamzee came back."

Terezi visibly paled.  "Oh shit."  Your heart plummeted.

You suddenly heard a male voice shouting loudly outside, and all of your muscles tense.  The words were unintelligible but the voice sounded angry.  Furious.

"What is happening?" you asked, eyes narrowed.  "Where is Tavros?"

"Tavros is with Gamzee now," Feferi replied, chewing her lip worriedly.  

"What are you talking about?  Who is Gamzee?"

It suddenly struck you that that is the name Aradia had mentioned Tavros was conversing with, when he'd made a near brush with death.

"Gamzee is...our resident grape jelly," Terezi told you, and when you arch an eyebrow in confusion she sighed and said, "Our purpleblood."

You gasped.  "The subjugglator? What is he doing to Tavros?"

"I doubt it's Tavros you need to be worried about right now," Terezi said.  "Tavros shouldn't be in any danger with Gamzee around, but I can't imagine how badly Gamzee's flipping shit right now if he saw what they were doing to the kid."  She looked at Feferi.  "How many people has he killed?"

You are taken aback by the way the tealblood casually expects one of her own comrades to have killed other fellow soldiers.  You know the High Side is savage but murder amongst their own troops is just...fucked up, if you may so.

Feferi sighed and said, "How many he's killed isn't even the issue right now.  The issue is that he's just killed Nektan."

Terezi made a strangled noise and turned even paler.  "The captain, he killed the captain?  The captain is dead?"

Feferi nodded, and Terezi groaned.  "Oh man, that is so fucked up."

You gave a harsh laugh and the two of them turned to you.  "One of your own just killed your division leader?  That is somehow fittingly barbaric."

This failed to offend them, as you had expected it would.  "That's sadly the case," Terezi said.

The contrast between the ways the High Side and Low Side operate are stark.  There is, of course, mistrust and rivalries and some hostility among the Low Side troops, but not outright violence like this.  The Low Side, spread as thin as it is, cannot afford anything but solidarity among its members.

"How can Tavros be safe from danger with anyone like...this Gamzee?" you said, feeling sick at the thought of your bronzeblood friend in the custody of some purpleblood monster.  The name Gamzee still rang familiar in your thinkpan, but you couldn't identify exactly why.  He must have been someone important back in the city.  Important in the not-good way.

"Gamzee is...possessive of Tavros," Feferi said.  "He won't let him get hurt."

"So you mean to say...that he won't allow anybody else other than himself hurt Tavros.  That is no comfort."

"It's...hard to explain...I think Gamzee does genuinely care about Tavros's whale-being!"

"She's right," Terezi said.  "Tavros almost died a few days ago.  All of us were scared but Gamzee nearly lost his shit.  I mean, dude was crying."

And there it is again, their seemingly genuine concern for Tavros that baffles you to no end.  "I don't understand.  Why is Tavros's well-being a genuine concern to any of you?"

Feferi smiled softly.  "Let's just say...Tavros has really grown on us!  He's such a sweet little boy."

"Tavros may appear small, but he is by no means a little boy," you answered .  "Besides, if he has really grown on you so much, your actions have been extremely hypocritical.  You would keep him here and torture him, nearly kill him, allowing him to suffer--"

"It's not like that!  I've only been trying to make things ea-sea-er for him, I swear!  If it was my choice, I would have--" Feferi cried out, at the same time that Terezi said, a harsh grin on her face, "Look who's talking hypocrisy, if your lowblood managed to fall in love with one of us despite everything."

There was a sudden earth-shattering silence as both you and Feferi turned to gape at Terezi.  The latter, have only just seemed to realize what she had just said, turned tealer and tealer.  Finally, she let out a groan and said, "Forget I said anything.  It was just some stupid speculation on my part."

You decided to leave the issue for now, because you weren't sure how well you could handle whatever else she had to say.  You turned back to Feferi, and Terezi remained silent.  "You were saying.  If you had a choice what would you have elected to do?"

This time, it was Feferi's turn to become flushed.  She stammered and fidgeted, avoiding your eyes.  She finally mumbled something unintelligible.  
   
"I'm going to have to ask you to repeat what you just said, because I was unable to hear that," you said.

Wringing her hands, Feferi finally said, "If I had the choice...I would let him go.  Even if Eridan says I'd be turning traitor.  I can't make excuses for how those...people could have possibly been justified treating Tavros that way!"

You raised your eyebrows and said, "Then why not set him free?  Surely you have the authority to make such a decision, being fuchsia of blood."  You started to plead.  "Please.  I intended to stow away with Tavros during the day.  I am one of the few trolls who can survive the Alternian sun.  No one will ever have to know I was here.  Give Tavros to me and we will be gone, hours before the sun sets.  Tomorrow evening you can tell them you chose to dispose of Tavros over the day.  It will be like your...'betrayal' never happened, and Tavros will be out of your hands.  It's not even as if keeping Tavros here will give you a strategic advantage over our Side.  He was but a common foot soldier."

To your dismay, Feferi shook her head sadly.  "You don't understand," she told you.  "My decision is hypothetical!  I really don't have any choice over what ultimately happens to Tavros.  Everything's up to Gamzee at this point, and as you can see he's willing to slaughter anyone who gets in his way, even our own captain!  It doesn't matter if I'm fuchsia; just the other day Gamzee was using his chucklevoodoos on me!"  There was a certain vulnerability in her voice that made you sympathize with her, despite everything.

After a long silence, you announced, "I don't care.  I will bargain, negotiate, fight a hopeless battle if I have to.  I came here prepared to give everything within my power to save my friend.  Bring me to Gamzee, and I'm sure I could offer him something he would be willing to exchange Tavros for."

"You don't know what you're dealing with.  This is Gamzee we're talking about!  The most capricious, volatile, irrational--"

"I have suffered under the effects of his chucklevoodoos before.  I have no illusions about what a subjugglator is capable of.  That is only more of a reason for me to try to remove Tavros from his custody, even if I may die in the process."

Feferi looked at you for a long time, and you started to get annoyed by the sympathy in her eyes.  It's not as if she can understand what Tavros means to you, and to Karkat, Aradia, Sollux, and Nepeta, can she?

Finally, she said, "For a jadeblood, you are so very brave."

"My bravery has nothing to do with my blood caste.  Just as your cowardice and ignorance is no product of yours."

She seemed stunned and somewhat offended by your jibe, but it wasn't as if she had any rebuttal at her disposal.

"I'll take you to see Gamzee," she said at last.  "I'll try to soften the blow so that none of us gets hurt.  But I'm going to have to insist that we wait another hour or two.  Gamzee is a menace when he's in a good mood, and I've never seen him lose it so completely as he did just now.  Also, I must warn you that you really don't understand the...relationship Gamzee and Tavros share, weird and unhealthy as it may be!"

"I've known Tavros for far longer than any of you," you huffed, but despite the truth behind your words they sounded unconvincing, and worry churned in your stomach like a premonition.

\----------

Feferi made you wait a full hour and a half before she finally decided that it was as safe as it could possibly be, to visit Gamzee.  You can't help but feel that she was only making you wait because of your comment about her cowardice and ignorance, earlier.  

Time both slowed down and sped up as you slip quietly from Feferi's tent to the purpleblood's, as you realize that you are only seconds away from seeing Tavros.  How miserable must he be right now?  Does he know you're here?  Will you succeed in saving him, or will this endeavor result in both of your demises?  And how are Karkat and the others?

When the front of the purpleblood's tent comes into view, you are shocked, even though you really should have expected it.  On the ground is rotting, smelling evidence of a massacre; puddles of teal, cobalt, indigo, and violet blood  decorate the ground, and suddenly, Feferi's warnings about Gamzee's capricious nature come back to you full force, and you are so very, very frightened.

"He did this...all by himself?" you whisper.  Next to you, Terezi looks sick as well.  She has been awfully quiet since her...controversial statement about hypocrisy.  You put it out of your mind.

"Yes," Feferi answers softly.  "And all because he saw what they were doing to Tavros."

You remind yourself that these--corpses--were once trolls that gladly raped and humiliated Tavros, but the gory sight of their dead bodies, barely recognizable, makes it hard for you to muster anger towards them anymore.

You step over the bodies and at the entrance of Gamzee's tent, Feferi takes a deep breath and hisses through the cloth, "Gamzee!  It's me, Feferi!"

There is a slight pause before a raspy, lilting baritone answers, "Go away, Fishsis, Tavbro doesn't want visitors at the motherfucking moment."  To your surprise, the voice sounds calm with slightly slurred syllables.  You're not sure what you expected, though, and your bloodpusher hammers wildly.

Feferi too looks encouraged by the relative lack of hostility in the subjugglator's voice, and she calls out, "I know, I know, but this can't wait! It's like reely, reely, reeeeely important! And urgent!"

Terezi pipes up, "Seriously Makara, like right now."  Makara? you think.  Is that the purpleblood's surname?  "Also, it smells so bad out here, I think I'm gonna puke."

Unable to reign in your impatience, you say, with a hopeful voice, "Tavros?  Are you in there?  Are you all right?"

There is long, drawn-out silence that follows your question, and with each passing millisecond you feel your hope crumble away a little bit.  But then, just when you about anxious enough to tear open the tent doors and look for Tavros yourself, an all-too-familiar voice answers, "K-Kanaya?"

You can't help the jade tears that stream down your cheeks, like a floodgate opening.  "Tavros!"

You jump when the tent flap is abruptly opened, revealing a troll with upward-spiraling horns, flyaway hair, and white and grey face paint.  He is one of the tallest trolls you've ever met, but he is thin and gangly, like a skeleton, rather than muscular or bulky.  Across his face are three fresh cut wounds, which look untreated and are festering purple. He stares at you with wide eyes, and you are immediately intimidated.

"Gamzee!  What the shell happened to your face?  You should have come see to me get that treated, that looks horrible!" Feferi gushes, but her worries are ignored.

You open your mouth to speak, but Gamzee beats you to it.  "So Kanaya is this miracle sister's motherfucking name, huh?"  He suddenly reaches out and tilts your chin towards him with an outstretched finger.  You gasp at the sudden contact, and his finger is so very cold, typical of a highblood.  "So green's the color all up and inside of you," he says, eyeing your jade tears.  The way he speaks to you, as though he already knows you from somewhere, makes you uneasy.

"It's Maryam," you say as stoically as you possibly can.  You don't want a highblood calling you by first name.

Abruptly, he lets you go and you release the breath you didn't know you were holding.  His face splits into a wide grin and he gestures for the three of you to come inside.  "How motherfucking lucky we are to have three sisters up and visiting a brother in the middle of the day."  

Goose flesh rises on your arms at his lazy yet expletive-ridden manner of speaking.  There's a luring sense of calm to it, yet just enough threat laced into his tone to make his voice anything but harmless.

With a tight voice, Terezi says, "We're not here to fool around, Makara."

"Don't I know it, my motherfucking blind sister.  Ain't nothing to MOTHERFUCKING FOOL ABOUT ON A MIRTHLESS DAY LIKE THIS."

You would have jumped at the sudden volume increase in Makara's voice, but for once you pay no heed to the subjugglator because you've just caught sight of a small troll lying on what looks like a pile of horns.  He has wide bull horns, at odds with his scrawny body, and he is wrapped in several towels.  You are happy to see that he has cleaned up and that he is no longer covered in grime and violet genetic material.  Enormous chocolate eyes are staring at you in disbelief.  

"Kanaya.  Oh my god, K-Kanaya, is that really you?"

Your feet carry you across the tent and a second later, your arms are wrapped around the warm form of your young brownblood friend.  He hesitantly hugs you back, and you can't help crying into his hair.  

"You are in so much trouble, young man, for landing yourself here.  Karkat will surely have words with you when we meet up with him," you say, the sternness in your voice lost in your shaky, relieved laugh.

In a tiny whisper, he replies, "I-I th-thought I would n-never see you again..."

"Nonsense," you murmur back, "you've seen far from the last of us."  Both of you cling tighter to one another.  

The moment is broken up when someone suddenly grabs the back of your collar and pulls you roughly away from Tavros, and you land on the floor.  The purpleblood is suddenly standing over you, leaning down in your face.  "Don't.  MOTHERFUCKING.  Touch."

"Gamzee!" Tavros calls out, and the wildness in Makara's eyes immediately fade.  "Please, don't hurt her--"

"She was all up and getting her motherfucking grab on my Tavbro and you're still hurt--"

"Gamzee, she was just, giving me a hug, which is, not unexpected behavior, for friends who haven't seen each other, in a long time.  At least, that is what is commonly done, on the Low Side, uh, but you don't have to worry, Kanaya would, never hurt me."

You look at Tavros in surprise, but he's looking intently at the purpleblood.  You turn a questioning look to Feferi and Terezi, but they both seem unsurprised by the casual interaction between your friend and the subjugglator.

"Oh."  Makara sheepishly gets out of your face.  "I motherfucking apologize then, my green-hued friend.  This motherfucker doesn't always have his motherfucking understand on for lowblood gesticulations."

"Jegus, Makara, it's not like highbloods don't hug," Terezi says sarcastically.

Makara shrugs, then turns away from you.  You can scarcely believe that this man is responsible for the gruesome murders outside, and now here he is being somewhat civil.  Your jaw drops as he sits down on his horn pile and collects Tavros in his arms protectively.  Even weirder is the fact that Tavros doesn't protest, though the bronze on his cheeks darkens.

There is a bit of uncomfortable silence as Gamzee settles himself down.  This is not how you expected your reunion with Tavros to be.  You expected there to be much more resistance and hostility on the part of the highblood.  You were prepared for adrenaline and force, but not this awkward tension.  And Tavros...the dark circles under his eyes and the thinness of his body are obvious indications of poor health as of late, but he doesn't seem to be in a state of panic. 

"Um, Kanaya.  Oh wow, I kind of can't believe, that I'm not dreaming.  This is just, the greatest miracle."

"HONK!" the purpleblood honks, and Tavros actually giggles.  

"This is, my friend Gamzee Makara, and that is Feferi, and Terezi, but it seems to me that the three of you have, uh, already met."

Terezi taps her nose proudly.  You are disturbed that Tavros finds the need to introduce you to these highbloods like old friends.

Wait.  Did he say, Gamzee Makara, his FRIEND?

"But, why are you, here, Kanaya?  This is very, um, dangerous, and you could get caught, and that would be very, very bad..."  He chews his lip, looking very worried for you.

"I'm here to..." you hesitate, sneaking a glance at Feferi, Terezi, and Makara.  "I'm here to rescue you, Tavros."

His eyes widen.  "Me?"

Makara visibly stiffens, but says nothing.

You smile softly at Tavros's obliviousness.  "Who else?"

"But, why, would you want to do something, like this?"

"Well, we couldn't just leave you here!"

"But the risks, are so high--"

"We figured you would be worth the risks."

Tavros is silent for a long time.  A haunted look comes over his eyes and for the first time, you truly see the toll that these few weeks has taken on him.  He looks faraway in his thoughts and the sorrow on his face makes him seem far beyond his years.  "I'm afraid, that you are wrong, about that."

You know that Tavros has low self-esteem, so you are quick to counter that.  "You have no idea what you mean to us, Tavros, especially after saving our lives--"

"No," he interrupts, and you are startled by the vehemence in his tone.  "I'm not worth saving.  I'm not a soldier anymore, Kanaya."

You think about Tavros's rape and your nostrils flare.  "Tavros, don't think that you are any less of a troll because of what they did to you--"

His eyes are widening with horror and you suddenly have the impression that you've said the wrong thing.  

"Y-y-you s-saw...that?"

You don't have a chance to respond before he's burying his head into Makara's chest, repeating, "Y-you weren't supposed to s-see that.  This wasn't supposed to h-happen.  Not Kanaya.  Not any of you guys.  Oh god, oh my god..."

Makara looks up at you, and he looks torn between comforting Tavros and getting up and ripping you apart for upsetting Tavros.  That's when you notice their tightly intertwined hands.  Terezi's words come floating back to you...

"...your lowblood managed to fall in love with one of us..."

You push it firmly from your mind, and you are distraught that Tavros is reacting this way.  And Tavros is NOT supposed to find comfort in the highblood!

"Tavros, dear, please. I apologize for upsetting you.  I'm your friend, and you don't have to feel ashamed with me--"

"You don't understand!" he bursts out, and you are shocked because you've never heard Tavros speak this way.  "Kanaya, you're pretty, you're strong, you're smart, you're a good fighter, and people on the Low Side would like you, if you didn't hang out with people like me all the time."  He hastily rubs his eyes.  "I grew up knowing that I would either be culled or conscripted as a slave, I knew that it was all I deserved, because I was so lousy, and when I joined the Low Side I thought, maybe, just maybe, things would be different, and I could get stronger, but, but, b-b-but..." his voice shutters down to a whisper, "...now I know, that nothing's changed, in fact, I'm lousier, none of the highbloods even think I'm remotely a threat, they don't see me as the enemy, I'm just a lowly brownblood, I'm not even qualified to be a bucket slave.  I'm so pathetic that being an actual bucket slave is still better than what I am, which is, a lowblood who has to be rescued, by highbloods who think he's too pathetic to save himself, which is true..."

Inexplicably, his eyes wander over to Feferi as he says this, and Feferi's eyes fill with tears as she gushes, "Tavros, that's not why I tried to help you, at all--"

"But if I had been anyone else, I think you would have probably not wanted to help me," Tavros says, and the pitch of his voice is getting higher and higher, as though he is unraveling.  "But you felt bad for me for being so weak, even though I'm a lowblood.  If it was any other lowblood...even Kanaya, who's pretty nice, compared to some of the others, I don't think, you would have been as sympathetic, even though none of the lowbloods on the Low Side, are in the wrong, for fighting against you, I mean, because of the way highbloods have treated lowbloods for so long..."

Feferi actually takes a step back like she's been slapped.  She opens and closes her mouth a few times but no sound comes out.

Then Tavros addresses you again.  "And Kanaya, you risked so much, just to rescue me, and what if something happened to you, what if they did to you what they did to me, how could I even live with myself if this happened to someone who didn't actually deserve it, I can't let anyone else get hurt because of me anymore--"

"You DIDN'T MOTHERFUCKING DESERVE IT, Tavbro, and the ONLY MOTHERFUCKERS WHO THINK OTHERWISE are only all up in the WRONG because they ain't seen what a miraculous brother you are on the inside."

Tavros stops rather abruptly and turns to stare at Makara, but Makara suddenly snarls at you, "You DON'T MOTHERFUCKING TALK TO TAVBRO LIKE THAT."

You open your mouth to protest, because who does Makara think he is to be lecturing you on how you talk to your friend?  And besides, you haven't even said anything since Tavros started to ramble--but then Terezi is on your side once more with a hand on your shoulder and she hisses, "Drop it.  I told you he wouldn't want you to see him like that.  Clearly too fucking late now.  Just let him let it out, he needs this."

"What do you know?" you ask, but it's weak, because you can see that whatever it is Makara is now whispering to Tavros is clearly effective, because your brownblood friend is already calming down considerably.  

"...motherfuckers can't see past appearance, not like the way Tavbro can see more to the motherfucker that I am than a murderous nightmare," you hear Makara say.  "They don't see that Tavbro is the strongest motherfucker my vision ducts ever laid their gaze on, 'cause you can keep secrets in a place like this and keep your bloodpusher's motherfucking pity even after my harshwhimsied chucklevoodoos."

There is another long pause during which Tavros's heavy breathing diminishes, and he seems to sink against the purpleblood even further.  Resisting the urge to gag at their display, you softly offer, "I'm sorry, Tavros.  I was being insensitive.  I didn't mean to upset you.  Please forgive me."

"No, Kanaya," he sighs.  "I'm sorry, for blowing up, like that.  It's not that I'm not happy to see you, it's just...I never wished, we would ever have to see each other, under unhappy conditions, like this."  

You nod.  "Of course, I understand that, Tavros."

"And please, can we just not, talk about, what happened out there, maybe, ever again?  Thinking about that is not a pleasant experience, that I would like to, relive."

Your bloodpusher pulses with sympathy for him.  "Yes, Tavros," you answer.  

"Okay."  He licks his lips.  "Okay, well...how did you even find me?  And how did you get in there?"

"We...detected your palmhusk, Tavros," you tell him.  

"My...palmhusk?"  He looks baffled.  "It's still active?"  The three highbloods are all giving him odd looks, but you and Tavros ignore them.  "I thought it was lost, back on the battlefield, the other day."

"No, it's here," you answer.  

"Wait..."  He turns to Feferi, but then seems to recoil when he realizes that she is still upset over what he said to her.  "Feferi, I'm sorry..."

The fuchsiablood straightens up upon being addressed, and tries too hard to look unaffected.  "Oh, I'm all right!" she says, voice too bright to be genuine.  "Did you want somefin, Tavros?"

"Oh, um..."  Tavros still looks slightly guilty over upsetting Feferi.  "I was wondering, what happened to my clothes, on the day I, got here...?  I remember waking up, in your tent, but by that time I was already, wearing a hospital gown..."

"Are you talking about your uniform?" she asks.

"Yes, those were the clothes, I was wearing...'

"Yes, right, of course!  Well, I had to cut them off of you because they were too soiled, so you probably can't wear it anymore.  But I did keep them, in one of my shelves, in case you would ever want them."

"Oh, that's great!" Tavros says.  "Would you mind, bringing them here?"

"Of course not!"  Feferi rushes out of the tent and returns a few minutes later with a bundle of cloth, and you are horrified to see that it is stained with brown.  "Tavros...is that...your blood?" you ask.

"Yes, I was, shot..." he sighs.  "Feferi is the one, who helped me, well...not get back up on my feet, but...at least I'm not in, pain anymore."  His eyes suddenly widen in alarm.  "Are Nepeta, and Karkat, okay?"

You realize that he is asking about their injuries from the battle.  "Yes, they have long since healed," you assure him.  "Nepeta's shoulder was grazed, nothing more.  Karkat's leg was slashed but it was not serious."

You want to ask more about his own injury but he is fishing around the pockets of his damaged uniform, and with a spark in his eyes he says, "Aha!" and pulls out the small device.  "Oh my gog, I can't believe it's still here!  I can't believe no one...took it."

"Well, Vriska was the one who carried you here, and she was too...distracted by your scent to think of searching your pockets," Terezi informs him.

"Oh...Vriska..."  He shudders in a way that tells you that this Vriska is not good news.

"Looks like the spiderbitch up and did us a motherfucking favor, for once," Makara says.

"Karkat's original plan was to have us hide out somewhere nearby and for me to come retrieve you when the sun is up," you say, in response to Tavros's other question about how you got in here.  "But we had an altercation with three bluebloods, and I ended up stealing a uniform to come in here before highblood reinforcements arrived."  This reminds you that you're not sure whether any of your other friends survived the confrontation.  You feel your bloodpusher get dunked in ice.

"What...happened, to that blueblood?"

"I killed her."

You hear Feferi gasp, but Terezi and Makara look unfazed by the news of their division mate's demise.  Tavros, however, looks sad.

"Tavros, this was a necessary step for me take," you say, both endeared and annoyed by Tavros's sometimes misplaced sense of compassion.

"I know but...I still don't like it when people have to die.  Especially because of me."

"It was just a highblood," you say.  "And this is war."

"I know it's war, that's why I hate it," Tavros insists stubbornly.  "And a highblood is still...a person, death just seems so...harsh."

You sigh.  You have had this conversation with Tavros before, but amazingly, he is too compassionate, stubborn, and naïve to change his stance.  You expected that after spending weeks as a prisoner of sadistic highbloods, he would change his mind, but it seems his stubborness really does have no limits. "Tavros, these are the people who enslaved you and tortured you.  This really isn't the best time to sympathize with them."

Tavros frowns at you, but before he can answer Makara gives a sudden bark of laughter and says, "Looks like not all SHITBLOODED MOTHERFUCKERS are pitiable like Tavbro, after all."

He is clearly insulting you, but you are too floored to respond.  Did he call Tavros...pitiable?

And Tavros doesn't even seem surprised.  Instead, you catch a small smile teasing the corners of his lips.  "Stop it, Gamzee," he says, with no heat.  "Kanaya is, just fine. Anyway, where are Karkat and the others?"

For a moment, you thought he was asking you, and you want to say that you don't know, but to your surprise, Makara is the one who answers.  "I up and left 'em in a motherfucking cave, Tavbro.  It ain't too far from here but it ain't too close, neither, 'cause otherwise some motherfucker might stumble upon their little lowblood hideout.  It was pretty motherfucking well-hidden, but I know where that rock-hole is and I could find it again if I had to."

It takes a moment for everything to click into place for you.  "Wait..." you say, addressing Makara.  "YOU were the reinforcements they sent?"

He looks at you with those wild purple eyes.  "This is that motherfucker, Maryamsis."

You cringe at the nickname and say, shakily, "What did you...what did you do to them?"  You know that Karkat, Sollux, Aradia, and Nepeta are good fighters, but even they would not have been able to hold their own against a purpleblood.

"Relax, sister.  I didn't motherfucking touch 'em.  My chucklevoodoos put them to sleep and I had 'em cozied up with my strongbro Equius in a nice motherfucking cave."  He points at his bloodied face.  "In fact, it was..."  He trails off and looks at Tavros questioningly. 

"Nepeta," Tavros says.

"Nepeta-sis, your fine cat friend, who up and scratched a motherfucker's face like an angry tiger," Makara finishes.

You are aware that you probably look like a goldfish, with the way you are gaping, wide-eyed, at the subjugglator, but you can't help yourself.  Finally, you shake yourself out of stupor and rather aggressively grab your own palmhusk from your pocket.  

grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

GA: Karkat  
GA: Where Are You And The Others At The Moment  
GA: I Have Received Disturbing Intelligence That You Were Intercepted By The Subjugglator  
GA: But The Same Source Of That Intelligence Tells Me That All Of You Are Unharmed  
GA: Please Inform Me As Soon As You Are Able

"What, are you doing?" Tavros asks you hesitantly.

"I'm sending Karkat a message," you tell him.  "I'd like to hear from him that they are safe, and to know where they are."

"Oh."

You look at Tavros intently.  "After Karkat replies me, Tavros, I'm taking you to the others and regrouping with them.  We have to do it while the sun is still up so the highbloods won't think to look for us.  I know you can't stand the sun the way I can, so I'll shield you as best I can."  You look pointedly at Feferi and Terezi.  "No objections?"

Terezi shrugs and Feferi holds her hands up in a placating manner.  "I told you, I only want the best for Tavros!"

You nod at them and turn back to Makara.  His arms are wrapped even tighter around Tavros and a grim frown creases the paint on his face.  "Makara, I--" you begin.

"Wherever Tavbro goes, I'm motherfucking coming with."

The silence is deafening.

"I ain't letting this miracle slip from my slippery fingers one more motherfucking time.  I can protect him and the world is MOTHERFUCKING DANGEROUS anyway, so I'll make sure no bitches get their dirty touch on my Tavbro.  I said, wherever he goes, I'm coming with."

"W-w-what?" Feferi screeches.  "Gamzee, you're just...leaving?"

"He did kill the captain, what better way to turn traitor?" Terezi huffs.

"Who said I'd let you come with us?  Haven't you done enough, highblood?' you hiss, still incredulous.

"They're definitely going to notice if you leave, I can't cover for you then--" Feferi cries.

"My mind is motherfucking made, motherfuckers.  When this motherfucker sees them bitches hurting his Tavbro he up and absconds."

"This is clearly some trick--" you say--

"Honestly, I'm not even surprised--"

"This is a reely bad idea--"

"Motherfucking--"

"STOP IT!" Tavros suddenly yells, and all of you fall silent because hearing Tavros raise his voice is mindboggling.  He's been softspoken for the sweeps that you've known him, and you don't remember his voice ever rising above a normal classroom level.

"Stop fighting, you guys," he repeats, but his voice this time is much softer; however, he already has all of your attention.  "This isn't even, um, the point.  Who said, that I want to, go anywhere?"

"What?" you choke.  "But--why would you want to stay here?"

"Yeah motherfucker," Makara joins in, and you can't believe that HE all of people is on your side.  "I thought we said we were up and absconding outta this here highblood hellhole."

"No, you said that, Gamzee," Tavros replies firmly.  The confidence in his voice surprises you.

"I still can't believe you're leaving, Gamzee!" Feferi cries.

"You gonna out me, or do I need to CULL YOUR ASS FIRST?" Gamzee snarls at the fuchsiablood, who frantically shakes her head. 

"No, I won't...shell you or Tavros--or Kanaya--out to anyone, but--"

"Feferi, maybe it would be best if, you and Terezi, left," Tavros says.  "I'm not sure, what may come up, in this conversation, but, uh, the information, may be sensitive, and I don't want either of you to be in a position, that is, incriminating."

"But I--I'm on your side, Tavros--"

"No, Feferi, it's best this way--" Terezi tries to persuade.

"If Gamzee is absconding, then I want to, as well!" Feferi bursts out.  She then claps her hands over her mouth in horror, but she doesn't take it back.

"Wow, uh, um..." Tavros says, but he seems to be just as speechless as you are.

You expected to have to put a hell of a fight to get Tavros back.  You didn't expect highbloods to be clambering to JOIN you.  

Maybe the High Side needs solidarity just as much as the Low Side.  They're just better at hiding it.

Terezi takes Feferi by the arm and pulls gently.  "Look, Feferi, you're obviously not in the right state to be making decisions right now.  Why don't we go back to your tent and think about this.  Besides, it's safer this way and none of us can afford to be reckless."

Feferi allows Terezi to drag her out of the tent, but she continues to look at Gamzee and Tavros pleadingly, eyes swimming with tears.

"Well...that was dramatic," you say tightly after they leave.  

"Right motherfucking on, Marysis."

"Don't call me that," you snap at Makara.

"I'm still not going anywhere," Tavros says.

"Why, Tavros?  Don't tell me that you enjoy it here, because I know you don't.  And even if you have...lingering feelings for certain trolls, they're highbloods.  Remember who we're fighting against in this war."

"I know, Kanaya, I know.  But I don't think, things are as black-and-white, uh, as they seem.  It's more than just, a divisive live, across High and Low.  But that's, uh, not even why I want to stay.  First of all, I'd be a liability to the Low Side, because I can't, move.  But also, I overheard the captain, talking about some important information, that could potentially change the Low Side's fate, and I think maybe I could find out more about it."

At that moment your palmhusk screen lights up.

CG: KANAYA.  WE'RE FUCKING ALIVE.  
CG: ALTHOUGH I STILL DON'T REALLY FUCKING BELIEVE IT.  HOW THE FUCK DID YOU KNOW THEY SENT THE FUCKING SUBJUGGLATOR? I'M STILL CONVINCED I'M STUCK IN SOME TRIPPY DREAM ABOUT BEING ALIVE, BUT THAT DOESN'T MAKE ANY DAMN SENSE BECAUSE I WOULDN'T BE DREAMING IF I WERE FUCKING DEAD.  BASIC TROLL BIOLOGY FOR YOU.  
CG: ALSO MY SIDE HURTS LIKE FUCKING HELL, AND AGONY OF THIS SPECIES SHOULDN'T EXIST IN DREAMS.  OF COURSE, NIGHTMARES DO EXIST SO WHAT THE HELL.  MAYBE DEATH FOR ME IS JUST ONE GINORMOUS NIGHTMARE THAT STRETCHES INTO THE ABYSSES OF INFINITY.  
CG: DO YOU REALLY HAVE TO USE YOUR FUCKING CONVOLUTED FORMALSPEAK IN A TIME LIKE THIS.  WHAT THE HELL IS THE SOURCE OF INTELLIGENCE THAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT.  WE JUST WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON.  WHY THE HELL DID YOU THINK IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO CRAWL INTO THE LITERAL ENEMY TRAP WITHOUT FUCKING CONFERRING WITH ME, THE FUCKING LEADER, FIRST?    
CG: FUCK IT.  HAVE YOU FOUND TAVROS?

The huge block of grey text is giving you a headache.  You look up at Tavros.  "Karkat's just replied me."  Looks like Makara was telling the truth about keeping them alive.  You're not sure how to feel about that.  "I'm going to add you to the chat and see what he has to say about this."

\--> BE TAVROS NITRAM

You sigh as Kanaya looks back down at her palmhusk to add you to the Pesterchum chat with Karkat.  You can feel her disapproval for your reluctance to leave rolling off of her in waves.  You look at Gamzee, and he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, though you can see that his eyes are filled with questions.  He'd thought you'd want to abscond, too.  Hell, you DO want to abscond, but you have your reasons.

"I'll explain," you reassure him.

You love Kanaya dearly, but seeing her again hasn't been as wonderful as you thought it would be.  Maybe it's because you'd already accepted in your bloodpusher that you would never see your Low Side friends again, which was a terribly difficult thing to do, and now, actually seeing Kanaya again is throwing your thinkpan in a loop.  Maybe it's because you don't want her to see you in this state.  Unlike Gamzee, Terezi, and Feferi, Kanaya knew you when you still had legs. Maybe it's because her interactions with Feferi, Terezi, and Gamzee, are so incredibly strained, bordering on hostile, and it reminds you of the the reality of the war and the bad blood on both sides of it.  Maybe it's because her presence brings you too many memories about a life you'll never have again: a life as a free troll, as an able-bodied soldier, as a member of the Rookies.

A life as a troll who didn't find Gamzee Makara so pitiable.

grimAuxiliatrix [GA] added adiosToreador [AT] to group chat

GA: I Have

CG: WHAT. THE. FUCK.  
CG: TAVROS?  
CG: FAIRY BOY WIMP NITRAM?  
CG: IS THAT ACTUALLY YOU?

You smile despite yourself, because you have really missed Karkat.  Seeing his all-caps Pesterchum text is almost like hearing his loud voice in your ear again.

AT: hI, uH, kARKAT  
AT: yES, tHIS IS REALLY ME  
AT: aLTHOUGH I WOULD, pREFER, iF YOU REFRAINED FROM CALLING ME,,,  
AT: a WIMP THAT IS,,   
AT: fAIRY BOY OF NATURE,,,

CG: HOLY SHIT!  
CG: WAIT.  IS THIS A CONVENIENT TIME TO CHAT OR ARE YOUR ASSES BEING WATCHED BY SOME CRAZY HIGHBLOOD GUARDS?

AT: dON'T WORRY, iT'S SAFE, rIGHT NOW

There is a long pause during which Karkat does not reply anything else.  Gamzee is looking curiously at your chatbox.  "'CG' is Karkat, the shouty one," you explain.

Your palmhusk lights up again.

carcinoGenetecist [CG] added apocalypseArisen [AA] to group chat

carcinoGenetecist [CG] added twinArmageddons [TA] to group chat

carcinoGenetecist [CG] added arsenicCatnip [AC] to group chat

Your bloodpusher pounds.  All six of you are in the same chat room now.

CG: THESE NUMBSKULLS THOUGHT IT WOULD BE FUCKING NOSTALGIC TO LOOK AT YOUR INVERTED CAPS MUD-COLORED TEXT POP UP ON THEIR SCREENS.  FIGURES.

AA: 0_0  
AA: tavr0s!!!

AC: :33 < *ac curls her hind legs ready to pounce*  
AC: :33 < *she kicks off the ground and lands on tafuross shoulder licking his face excitedly beclaws she has missed him!*

TA: FUCK  
TA: waiit ii2 thii2 actually TV what iif iits an iimpo2tor   
TA: TV 2ay 2omethiing only TV would know

AT: uHH,,,,,  
AT: oNE TIME, yOU, uHH, aTE MIND HONEY,,, bY ACCIDENT OF COURSE, aND THE NIGHT AFTER, yOU CRIED ON KARKAT, bECAUSE HE THOUGHT YOU SAID KK, wHEN YOU ACTUALLY SAID, aA, aND WANTED TO HAVE, uH, a FEELINGS JAM, wITH ARADIA, yOUR MOIRAIL, aND NOT KARKAT, yOUR,,,,,

TA: holy 2HIIT 2top  
TA: iim going two pretend you never 2aiid that  
TA: holy 2hiit tavro2

You smile, because Sollux only ever calls you by your full name, instead of "TV", when he is upset or emotional.

AA: tavr0s i kn0w this is a terrible questi0n but i have t0 ask  
AA: h0w are y0u  
AA: are y0u 0kay

You sigh, and Kanaya looks at you sadly.  

AT: wELL, i HAVE DEFINITELY BEEN, mORE OKAY BEFORE, tHAN I AM RIGHT NOW,  
AT: bUT, oVERALL,   
AT: cONSIDERING EVERYTHING THAT HAS HAPPENED AS OF LATE, i AM OKAY

TA: iif you've had your palmhusk thii2 entiire fuckiing tiime why diidnt you troll u2 earliier?

CG: KANAYA, YOU'RE WITH FAIRY BOY NITRAM RIGHT NOW AREN'T YOU?

You frown, seems like there are now two conversations going at once here.  And that Karkat is still calling you a fairy boy.

GA: Yes That Is Correct

AT: i HAVEN'T HAD IT, tHIS ENTIRE TIME, tHAT IS,,,  
AT: i THOUGHT I HAD LOST IT, iN THE BATTLE, bUT, uH, IT TURNS OUT, tHAT IT WAS IN MY UNIFORM POCKET, tHE WHOLE TIME, wITH FEFERI

CG: WHAT WAS THE SOURCE OF INTELLIGENCE OR WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT?  HOW ON ALTERNIA DID YOU KNOW WE MET THE SUBJUGGLATOR?

TA: who'2 feferii? 

GA: The Source Of Intelligence Is The Purpleblood Himself  
GA: His Face Is Badly Marred From His Confontation With You  
GA: He Says That He Was Injured By Nepeta  
GA: And He Also Claims That He Sent All Of You To Sleep And Took You To A Secure Location  
GA: And Left A High Side Soldier There

AC: :33 < yes! i scratched the big bad subjugglator!  
AC: :33 < and yes there is a high side blueblood in the cave with us  
AC: :33 < karkitty wants to kill him but he has a freshly broken horn and seems kind of delirious!  
AC: :33 < and he says he'll find food and water furr us! so i told karkitty to wait

"Oh motherfuck," Gamzee says abruptly.  "I up and forgot about his motherfucking horn, man.  That had to have some motherfucking serious ouch to it."

"You broke his horn?" you say disapprovingly.

AT: iN RESPONSE TO, yOUR QUESTION, sOLLUX, fEFERI IS THE NURSE WHO'S BEEN TAKING CARE OF MY INJURIES, eVERY DAY,  
AT: aND THE BLUEBLOOD IS CALLED,

"Equius," Gamzee supplies.

AT: eQUIUS, aND HE SHOULD BE, tRUSTWORTHY, sO DON'T KILL HIM

CG: NITRAM WOULDN'T KILL A FUCKING SUBJUGGLATOR IF IT WAS TIED UP AND HELPLESS RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIS FACE, SO THAT'S EXACTLY WHY WE SHOULDN'T LISTEN TO HIM.

You flush and both you and Kanaya look at Gamzee, but Gamzee laughs and says, "Little motherfucker is a know-it-all, ain't he."

TA: takiing care of your iinjuriie2 every day what the fuck?  


AA: y0uve been getting injured every single day  
AA: 0h my g0d  
AA: are y0u in any c0nditi0n t0 travel

Uh oh.  Things are getting into uncomfortable territory.  Gamzee, seeming to sense your impending distress, squeezes you a little harder, and Kanaya glances over at you.

"Is that why you don't want to come with me, Tavros?" she asks gently.

"Um..."

You stare intently back at your palmhusk.

AT: i,,,  
AT: uh,,,,,,,,,,,,,,  
AT: i, hAVEN'T BEEN GETTING INJURED, uHH,,, eVERY DAY,,  
AT: mORE LIKE,   
AT: i SUSTAINED A LONG TERM INJURY AT THE BATTLE, tHE OTHER DAY,,,  
AT: aND FEFERI HAS BEEN LOOKING AFTER ME EVERY DAY, fOR THAT REASON

AA: 0h my g0d i cant believe i f0rg0t ab0ut that  
AA: y0u g0t sh0t didnt y0u

TA: you were only 2creamiing your head off about that, AA

AA: which is h0w y0u fell 0ff y0ur h0rse and everything

AT: yOU,,, sAW THAT

AA: yeah it happened right after i w0ke up fr0m the chucklev00d00s  
AA: h0w bad was it

You are about to type your response when Gamzee suddenly grabs you, looking shocked.  "You DIDN'T MOTHERFUCKING TELL ME."

"W-what?"

"YOU DIDN'T MOTHERFUCKING TELL ME YOU GOT SHOT BECAUSE OF ME."

"Gamzee--it wasn't your fault--"

"BUT IF YOU HADN'T BEEN DISTRACTED BY THIS MOTHERFUCKER'S PSYCHIC VOODOO TORTURE YOU--"

"Wouldn't have met you," you finish, and he sits back, looking stricken.  You sigh. "It was the middle of a battle, Gamzee.  I'm lucky, to even be, alive.  You were just doing your, job."

You can tell he wants to say more but you look resolutely back down at your palmhusk.  However, you notice that you've received many more messages since Aradia's last one.

"I was just conveying to the group that you don't want to leave," Kanaya informs you.  They, too, are wondering whether this has something to do with your injuries."

Not bothering to read the previous messages, you type:

AT: mY,,, cONDITION,, iS NOT THE ONLY, uH, rEASON, i DON'T WANT TO LEAVE  
AT: tHERE ARE OTHER REASONS, aLL OF WHICH ARE OF, gREATER IMPORTANCE, tHAT PREVENT ME FROM LEAVING HERE WITH KANAYA, tODAY,, eVEN THOUGH I WANT TO  
AT: bUT, iT STILL IS A FACTOR, tHAT I CANNOT IGNORE,  
AT: bECAUSE I CANNOT IGNORE IT, eVEN IF I WANTED TO,,

CG: STOP CUTTING THE FUCKING CHASE, NITRAM, AND JUST TELL US.

AT: i, uHHH,,, i,,,,,  
AT: ,,,,,,,,,,

You subconsciously knead the unfeeling flesh in your useless thigh.  Your friends need to know this, there's no way out.

AC: :33 < *ac curls up on tafuross lap and cuddles her furriend encouragingly!*

AT: *pETS AC'S HEAD*

CG: FUCKING GIRLS.

AT: tHE BULLET, iT HIT, mY SPINE,,,

AA: 0h my g0d

AT: aND THE IMPACT, sEVERED IT,,,

Kanaya looks up at you sharply.

AT: wHICH HAS RENDERED EVERYTHING BELOW THE POINT OF IMPACT  
AT: fUNCTIONALLY, uHH,,,, uSELESS

TA: waiit   
TA: what do you mean?

AT: i'M,, uHH, pARALYZED,,  
AT: fROM THE WAIST DOWN  
AT: i CAN'T WALK  
AT: aNYMORE

Kanaya is suddenly at your side.  "Tavros..." she says in that motherly fashion of hers, tears in her eyes.  

You smile sadly at her as she places a hand on your knee.  You see her place it there, which is the only way you know she's touching you.  

"Can you feel..."

You shake your head, suddenly unable to speak, and Gamzee lets go of you for long enough to let Kanaya give you a hug, which you return just as desperately.

CG: EVER?  


AT: yEAH,  
AT: mEANING YEAH, fOR EVER  


CG: JESUS FUCK

AC: :(( < *ac*  
AC: :(( < wait no  
AC: :(( < tavros 

AT: tHAT'S WHY I WAS TELLING KANAYA THAT I'M, nOT A SOLDIER ANYMORE  
AT: bECAUSE THERE'S NO WAY I CAN, pOSSIBLY FIGHT, lIKE THIS,,,  
AT: oR DO ANYTHING  
AT: }:(

AA: tavr0s d0nt say that  
AA: please  
AA: tavr0s im s0 s0rry

AT: wHY, aRE YOU SORRY?

TA: KN   
TA: TV'2 not that heavy riight?

GA: I Do Not Believe So

TA: accordiing two the coordiinate2 you guy2 are liike a miile and a half away from where we are riight now  
TA: just carry hiim over here then we'll fiigure out what two do  


GA: While I Certainly Do Not Mind Doing So   
GA: There Is Just The Slightest Problem  
GA: There Are Two Highbloods Here Who Insist Upon Joining Us

CG: WHAT THE FUCK.  WHY DIDN'T YOU FEEL THE NEED TO BRING THIS EXTREMELY IMPORTANT DEVELOPMENT UP EARLIER?  
CG: WHO ARE THEY AND WHAT DO THEY WANT?

GA: It Is The Aforementioned Feferi  
GA: She Is A Fuchsiablood

TA: holy wow 

GA: And The Other Is The Subjugglator Also Aforementioned   
GA: He Goes By Gamzee Makara

AA: 0_0  
AA: thats

You suddenly realize that Aradia wants to bring up the day you "died". She must have heard you talking to Gamzee...you desperately want to avoid that subject for now.

AT: wAIT  
AT: tHAT'S NOT THE REASON WHY I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE

GA: They Seem To Have Acquired A Certain Fondness For Our Brownblood Friend And Would Like To Abscond Alongside Him

CG: FUCK, NITRAM, HOW MUCH SICKBLOOD BULGE HAVE YOU SUCKED TO GET THEM EATING OUT OF YOUR HAND LIKE THAT?

AT: iT'S NOT,,,  
AT: i,,,,,,,,  
AT: ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,  
AT: oH GOD,,,,,,,,,,

GA: Karkat

CG: WAIT  
CG: FUCK ME.  
CG: DON'T TELL ME I JUST

Your mind is still reeling from what Karkat said, when Gamzee suddenly snatches your palmhusk from your hands.  

AT: YoU dOn'T mOtHeRfUcKiNg TaLk To TaVbRo LiKe ThAt, MoThErFuCkEr  
AT: I dOn'T mOtHeRfUcKiNg CaRe If YoU'rE hIs MoThErFuCkInG sHiTbLoOdEd MiRaClE bRoThEr  
AT: i subjugglate any motherfucker's ass that i please.  
AT: AND I GOT A WHOLE LOT OF PLEASURE ON FOR SUBJUGGLATING A MOTHERFUCKER WHO TALKS TO TAVROS LIKE THAT

You snatch your palmhusk away from Gamzee again.  He still looks pissed and you hastily send psychic curls of calm toward him again.

AT: uHH, sORRY,,

CG: WHAT IN THE FUCKING NAME OF MY LONG-DEAD ANCESTOR WAS THAT SHIT JUST NOW?

AT: tHAT WAS, uHH, mY FRIEND GAMZEE,,  
AT: aRE YOU, oKAY?  
AT: }:)

CG: OH NO YOU FUCKING DON'T.  
CG: YOU DO NOT FUCKING PULL THIS SHIT TAVROS FUCKING NITRAM.  
CG: YOU DO NOT ASK ME IF I AM FUCKING OKAY, RIGHT AFTER I GOT PESTERED BY A FUCKING SUBJUGGLATOR, WHO HAS THE STUPIDEST QUIRK I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY VERY TRAUMATIC LIFE, WHO ALSO, FOR YOUR INFORMATION THREATENED TO KILL ME, WHO YOU THEN CLAIM IS YOUR FUCKING FRIEND.  
CG: I THINK YOU'RE THINKPAN HAS BEEN ROTTING IN THAT PLACE FOR SO LONG THAT YOU'VE FORGOTTEN THE MEANING OF FRIEND.  
CG: "FRIEND" IMPLIES THAT THE PERSON IN QUESTION DOES NOT TRY ACTIVELY ATTEMPT TO KILL YOU AND YOUR OTHER ACTUAL FRIENDS.  
CG: IT ALSO MEANS THEY AREN'T ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GOGFORSAKEN WAR.  
CG: AND YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE IT MEANS?  IT MEANS THEY DON'T HAVE FUCKING PURPLE BLOOD AND CHUCKLEVOODOOS AT THEIR DISPOSAL.  
CG: AND THEN YOU DO NOT ATTEMPT TO SOFTEN THE BLOW WITH YOUR FUCKING BULL-HORNED SMILEY FACE.

AT: i KNOW,, aLL THE THINGS, yOU JUST SAID  
AT: aBOUT PURPLEBLOODS AND MAKING FRIENDS, tHAT IS  
AT: i AM NOT, uHH, sTUPID, aS YOU SEEM TO BE IMPLYING  
AT: yOU ALREADY KNOW THAT, i DON'T MAKE JUDGMENTS BASED ON, bLOOD COLORS  
AT: oTHERWISE,, i WOULDN'T BE YOUR FRIEND, aT ALL

AC: :(( < *ac nervously nods her head while glancing at karkitty, beclaws tafuros has a point!*

CG: KARKAT FUCKING EXPLODES BECAUSE THAT IS NOT THE FUCKING POINT, NEPETA, YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE ON MY SIDE.  
CG: THAT'S DIFFERENT.

AT: i TRUST GAMZEE, aND MY REASONS, fOR DOING SO, aRE,,, uHH, pERSONAL  
AT: bUT,, pLEASE, jUST TRUST ME,, fOR ONCE,,,

You chance a glance at Gamzee, and he no longer looks furious, but is still glaring at the words on your palmhusk screen like they have personally offended him. Kanaya is pointedly looking away from you. You sigh. Having friends on both the Low and High Sides is hard.

AA: tavr0s d0nt take this the wr0ng way but  
AA: just c0nsider y0urself f0r a m0ment  
AA: its n0t that we d0nt want to trust y0u  
AA: but y0ure judgment might be c0mprised at the m0ment because you have spent s0 many weeks with the enemy! 

TA: yeah iit'2 fuckiing called 2tockholm 2yndrome 

AT: i KNOW WHAT STOCKHOLM SYNDROME IS  
AT: i DON'T HAVE THAT,, THOUGH,,,  
AT: tHERE ARE SOME PEOPLE HERE,, wHO REALLY TREAT ME,,, lIKE LOWBLOOD SCUM  
AT: bUT GAMZEE,,, hE,,,,, iSN'T LIKE THAT,,,,,  
AT: lIKE I SAID IT'S PERSONAL BUT,,,,  
AT: yOU KNOW,, hOW I CAN COMMUNE WITH ANIMALS,,, rIGHT?  


CG: I ALSO KNOW THAT YOU SEEM TO LACK THE ABILITY TO STAY ON EVEN REMOTELY RELATED TOPICS.

AT: i AM GOING TO, iGNORE THAT,, kARKAT  
AT: wELL,,, gAMZEE'S MIND, iS ALSO,, sOMETHING,, oR SOMEONE,,, i SHOULD SAY,, tHAT I HAVE THE ABILITY TO,,,  
AT: uHHHH,,,  
AT: cOMMUNE, wITH,, iN A, mANNER OF SPEAKING

There is a long pause during which no new chats filter in from your Pesterchum window. You can feel Kanaya's heated gaze on you but you resolutely ignore her. 

AC: :33 < i didnt know that was even pawsible!  
AC: :33 < *ac tries to make up her mind whether tafuros is very amazing or very scary!*

TA: holy 2hiit that2 fucked

AA: h0w did y0u even find 0ut

"You should motherfucking tell them the truth, Tavbro," Gamzee says softly. You swallow. How can you tell them that you found out over repeated and daily exposure to the chucklevoodoos, and still expect them to trust Gamzee?

"What truth?" Kanaya asks coldly. 

AT: i, uHHH, aM NOT REALLY,,, sURE  
AT: iT JUST SORT OF,, hAPPENED

AA: 0_0  
AA: y0u cant even d0 that with us th0ugh and weve kn0wn y0u f0rever

AT: i KNOW,,,  
AT: ,,,,,,  
AT: uHH,,  
AT: cAN WE, tALK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE NOW,,,  
AT: sOMETHING THAT IS MUCH MORE RELEVANT,, aND URGENT,,, iN NATURE

CG: OH WOW, LOOK AT FAIRY BOY WIMP FINALLY TAKING A STAND.

AT: uH,,, 

CG: OH SHIT.

AT: tHAT WAS,, ACTUALLY PRETTY HURTFUL,

GA: Karkat

AC: XOO < karkitty that was purretty low!* :(

CG: FUCK ME. EVERYONE'S JUST ATTACKING KARKAT AT ONCE BECAUSE OF ONE TINY LITTLE MISTAKE THAT I MADE, BECAUSE IT FUCKING SLIPPED MY MIND, OKAY.  
CG: I FEEL LIKE A HUGE ASSHOLE, EVEN THOUGH I ALREADY KNEW THAT I'M THE HUGEST FUCKING ASSHOLE. FEEL BETTER?

AT: ,,,

TA: that'2 a2 good a2 youre gonna get wiith KK tv admit iit

AT: oK, wELL,,  
AT: i OVERHEARD THE HIGH SIDE CAPTAIN TALKING,,  
AT: aND I HEARD SOME VERY IMPORTANT, pOTENTIALLY LIFE CHANGING PIECES OF INFORMATION  
AT: wHICH ARE THE REASONS I WANT TO, uH, sTAY HERE  
AT: tHE FIRST, vERY IMPORTANT THING, tHAT I HAVE TO SAY,, iS THAT,  
AT: tHIS HIGH SIDE DIVISION, wHICH IS TO SAY, THIS PLATOON, tHAT GAMZEE AND FEFERI, aRE BOTH MEMBERS OF,,,  
AT: iS GOING TO SPRING A SURPRISE ATTACK ON THE ROOKIES,, iN,,, uHH, nINE DAYS

"We already know that," Kanaya suddenly says.

"What?" 

"We have Sollux, you know," she smiles.

"Motherfuck, I didn't even fucking know that," Gamzee breathes. "All the more reasons we gotta up and abscond, Tavbro. I ain't culling any of your main motherfuckers on the lowblood division."

TA: tell me somethiing ii don't already know  
TA: the commander'2 haviing the rookiie2 evacuate camp iin eiight day2

AA: tavr0s thats why c0ming t0 get y0u was s0 imperative  
AA: we had t0 d0 it before the high side m0bilized  
AA: s0 that y0u c0uld leave the area t0gether with us

AT: bUT,, wAIT, tHERE'S, uHH,, sOMETHING ELSE  
AT: tHE CAPTAIN ALSO SAID, tHAT THE WAR WILL BE OVER, bY THE END OF THIS HALF A SWEEP  
AT: hE SAID,, tHAT THE CAPITOL, iS CURRENTLY IN THE PROCESS OF DEVELOPING A POWERFUL WEAPON,,  
AT: a WEAPON,, tHAT WILL SEND ALL LOWBLOODS,, cRAWLING BACK TO THE, cAPITOL,,  
AT: hIGH SIDE VICTORY, iS, uH, bASICALLY GUARANTEED,,,

Both Gamzee and Kanaya gasp at this information. They look at you in question, as though needing confirmation that you are not joking. As if you'd joke about such a thing!

CG: WHAT!

AC: XOO < this is very bad! *ac hides behinds karkitty's legs because she is scared!"

Kanaya takes a deep breath, trying to console herself.

GA: Sollux Have You Obtained Any Information About This

TA: no ii fuckiing haven't KN  
TA: don't you thiink ii would have fuckiing 2AIID 2OMETHIING?  
TA: do ii 2eem liike the kiind of a22hole who would wiithold iimportant fuckiing iinformatiion liike thii2?

AA: sh00sh s0llux SH00SH

CG: I DON'T NEED FUCKING PALE PORN FROM THE TWO OF YOU ON THIS CHAT WINDOW. FUCKING STOP IT.  
CG: STOP FLIPPING THE FUCK OUT, PEOPLE.  
CG: WE JUST NEED TO TELL THE LOW SIDE GENERAL WHAT'S GOING ON.  
CG: THEY'LL HAVE TO MAKE A MAJOR CHANGE IN THEIR WAR PLANS BECAUSE WE'RE JUST GOING TO HAVE TO SOMEHOW FIND A WAY TO WIN THIS STUPID WAR BEFORE THIS HALF A SWEEP IS OVER.

GA: Do You Really Think That Such A Feat Is Possible

CG: HONESTLY? WHAT DO YOU THINK, KANAYA? I ACTUALLY HAVE A FUNCTIONING THINKPAN AND IT'S NOT AN OVERLY OPTIMISTIC ONE, IF YOU HAVEN'T NOTICED.  
CG: OF COURSE I DON'T THINK IT'S POSSIBLE.  
CG: BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN WE DON'T FUCKING TRY.  
CG: I'LL FUCK A FUCKING CACTUS BEFORE HANDING MY ASS OVER TO THE SICKBLOODS WITHOUT A FUCKING FIGHT!

AA: but tavr0s i d0nt see why y0u have to stay there because 0f this new inf0rmati0n  
AA: w0uldnt it make m0re sense t0 c0me with us

AT: nO, bECAUSE IF I STAY HERE, i'M IN MORE OF A POSITION, tO, uH, fIND OUT MORE INFORMATION, aBOUT THIS POTENTIAL WEAPON,,, wHICH SOUNDS, lIKE VERY BAD NEWS, fOR THE LOW SIDE  
AT: bESIDES, uM, i DON'T THINK THE GENERAL, wOULD BELIEVE US, if WE JUST, tOLD HER, aBOUT SOME WEAPON,,,

TA: TV ha2 a poiint there  
TA: she'd probably thiink we're ju2t a bunch of wiigler2 tryiing to fuck wiith her

AT: yEAH, uHH, wHAT sOLLUX, jUST SAID,,  
AT: tHE CAPTAIN, sAID SOMETHING ALONG THE LINES, oF, tHIS IS SECRET AND SENSITIVE INFORMATION, wHICH, uHH, iS PROBABLY WHY, sOLLUX HASN'T FOUND ANY INTELLIGENCE, oN THE MATTER  
AT: tHEY'RE PROBABLY AVOIDING, tHE CREATION OF A POTENTIAL, pAPER TRAIL,

TA: diigiital traiil?

AT: rIGHT, tHAT  
AT: aND THE CAPTAIN SAID, hE WOULD BE HAVING, a MEETING ABOUT THIS, iN A FEW DAYS, tIME  
AT: wAIT

"Didn't Makara...kill him?" Kanaya asks hesitantly.

"Mother. FUCK," Gamzee groans, running a hand over his face.

TA: what? don't leave u2 hangiing you iindecii2iive a22hole

AT: i JUST REMEMBERED,,  
AT: tHAT, sAID HIGH SIDE CAPTAIN, iS, uHH, nO LONGER LIVING

GA: Makara The Subjugglator Killed Him  
GA: His Corpse Is Rotting Outside The Very Tent In Which We Sit Right Now

AA: 0_0  
AA: the highbl00d killed his 0wn captain  
AA: what the fuck

CG: TECHNICALLY THAT'S GOOD NEWS FOR US BECAUSE ANY HIGH-RANKING HIGHBLOOD OFFICER IS BAD FUCKING NEWS FOR US. BUT SERIOUSLY, THAT IS JUST FUCKING DISTURBING.

AT: hE, oNLY,, dID IT, bECAUSE, uHH,  
AT: ,,,,  
AT: tHE CAPTAIN, wAS, uHHH,,,  
AT: hARASSING,,,,, mE

You look at Kanaya in surprise when she types:

GA: I Bore Witness To Said Harrassment  
GA: Let It Be Said That The Captain Very Much Deserved His Treatment

Gamzee stares at her and she gives him a quick nod. You try to hide your smile. Maybe there's hope between them after all.

AT: aNYWAY, tHIS IS JUST ANOTHER REASON, wHY I CAN'T LEAVE  
AT: tHIS PLATOON, iS PROBABLY GOING TO GET ANOTHER CAPTAIN, sOON  
AT: aND THEY'RE NOT,, gOING TO TAKE KINDLY TO GAMZEE, fOR THE KILLING OF THE PREVIOUS ONE  
AT: iF BOTH OF US LEAVE, rIGHT AFTER THIS INCIDENT HAPPENED, tHEY WILL SURELY TRY TO PURSUE US,,, aND THAT WILL, pUT EVERYONE, iN DANGER

CG: JUST LEAVE THE FUCKING HIGHBLOOD TO DEAL WITH HIS OWN SHIT!  
CG: KANAYA, HOW ARE YOU FUCKING PUTTING UP WITH THIS MESS. CAN'T YOU JUST, I DON'T KNOW, DRAG THE FAIRY BOY WIMP'S ASS BACK HERE? IT'S NOT LIKE HE CAN KICK ANYMORE AND I'VE NEVER HEARD NITRAM SCREAM. THE VERY THOUGHT PUTS CHILLS THROUGH MY VULNERABLE SOUL.

Gamzee snatches your palmhusk for the second time and you want to facepalm. 

AT: TaVbRo Won't Be Up AnD dOiNg A mOtHeRfUcKiNg ThInG hE dOn'T wAnT tO dO.  
AT: tHe MoThErFuCkInG mIrThFuL mEsSiAhS kNoW tHaT i DoN't wAnT mY mOtHeRfUcKiNg MiRaClE tO sTaY iN tHiS hErE hElLhOlE.  
AT: bUt ThErE aIn'T a SiNgLe BlOoDpUsHeR i TrUsT mOrE tHaN tAv'S.  
AT: even if his bloodpusher stopped on me a few motherfucking days ago  
AT: IT MOTHERFUCKING STARTED AGAIN.  
AT: If ThIS iS wHaT mIrAcLeS hIs BlOoDpUsHeR iS uP aNd WhIsPeRiN fOr HiS bItChIn SeLf To Do ThEn ThIs MoThErFuCkEr AiN'T GeTtIn HiS InTeFeRe On WiTh ThOsE MiRaCLeS.  
AT: bEsIdEs, I cAn HeLp TaVbRo GeT hIs FiNd On FoR sOmE mOrE mOtHeRfUcKiNg HiGhBlOoD sEcReTs, If ThAt'S wHaT hE's Up AnD hUnGrY fOr.  
AT: those highblood motherfuckers don't know gamzee motherfucking makara talks to shitbloods  
AT: THEY DON'T MOTHERFUCKING KNOW I TALK TO ANYBODY. 

You finally manage to get the palmhusk back from Gamzee when he starts laughing and honking at nothing in particular. Kanaya looks visibly disturbed by both his display and by his words.

AT: uH,,, sORRY, aBOUT THAT, aGAIN,,,

CG: FUCK. YOU.  
CG: KEEP YOUR HIGHBLOOD BOYFRIEND UNDER CONTROL, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT. YOU OWE ME FOR EVERY SINGLE TIME THAT FUCKER HAS ALMOST CAUSED ME DEATH VIA CARDIAC ARREST WITH HIS FREAKY MINDBOGGLING ALTERNATING TEXT.

TA: KK calm the fuck down  
TA: loathe as ii am two admiit iit tv'2 2orta right  
TA: we really do need that iintel  
TA: and tv'2 the low 2iide'2 be2t bet riight now a2 horriifyiing a2 iit may sound that we are puttiing our fuckiing faiith iin hiim of all troll2

AA: and the subjugglat0r pr0blem clearly isnt g0ing away  
AA: tavr0s is clearly g0ing t0 be stubb0rn ab0ut this and makara kn0ws t00 much to be left al0ne anyway

CG: SOLLUX. ARADIA. WHAT THE FUCK.  
CG: FIRST NEPETA AND NOW YOU TWO. IS TODAY SUPPOSED TO BE "GO AGAINST THE FUCKING LEADER DAY"? YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE ON MY SIDE.

TA: ii don't liike thii2 eiither kk but 2omebody2 got two do iit  
TA: ii don't want that 2omebody two be tv but he2 clearly iin the best po2iitiion two 2py for u2

AT: uHHH, i'M A SPY,,,?

TA: the uniiver2e alway2 hated u2 before why 2hould it 2top now?

CG: ...

TA: you know iim riight kk

CG: FUCK YOU.  
CG: JUST FUCK ALL OF YOU.  
CG: ESPECIALLY YOU, NITRAM. IF YOU FUCKING DIE ON US AFTER ALL THE TROUBLE WE MADE TO RESCUE YOUR SORRY ASS, I WILL DIG UP YOUR GRAVE AND BREATHE OXYGEN INTO YOUR ROTTING LUNGS MYSELF, JUST TO REVIVE YOU AND KILL YOU AGAIN, SLOWLY AND PAINFULLY, AND YOU WILL REGRET EVER GOING AGAINST YOUR FUCKING LEADER.

carcinoGenetecist [CG] has left group chat

\----------

Kanaya stayed in Gamzee's tent for a while longer (even though she was clearly uncomfortable with Gamzee) to talk to you, but she couldn't stay forever. The sun was steadily climbing in the sky, and she would have leave while it was still up so as not to be caught by the High Side soldiers the next day. She was already incredibly lucky to have been sniffed out by Terezi and not anyone else. Last evening could have ended very differently, and very much worse than it already had been, if Kanaya had been discovered.

"Are you certain you don't want me to stay with you?" she asked you for the umpteenth time.

"I'm sure, Kanaya, I can look after myself," you told her. "Besides, the highbloods already know I'm here. If they, found you, it would only be worse, for both of us."

She sighed. "Yes, I know that." She took both of your hands fiercely and said, "Tavros, promise me, if by seven days you don't pick up any new information, you'll come with us. We're hiding out in that cave until you come and we're not leaving without you. We already made it this far."

You sigh. There are still so many unknown variables. "I promise," you said nevertheless.

The sun was bright and blazing by the time Kanaya decided it was time to leave. Even from inside the cave, the brightness pricked uncomfortably at your eyes and skin when Gamzee, with you in his arms, and Kanaya exited his tent. Gamzee had checked, double-checked, and triple-checked to make sure that the coast was clear.

With Gamzee carrying you, the three of you made it to the entrance of the cave. When you finally got there, Kanaya gave you a long, hard hug, which was awkward considering that Gamzee was still holding you, but you paid that no mind, trying to impress the feeling of Kanaya's motherly embrace in your memories. It was difficult, being separated from your Low Side friends before, but it had been sudden and void of any decision on your part. But it seems ten times harder now knowing that you could easily go back to them, and that it is a conscious choice of your own keeping you away from them, keeping you here, still deeply seated in savage enemy territory.

You almost changed your mind numerous times. You almost begged Kanaya to take you away from this place and its haunting memories forever. 

But you didn't.

You watch Kanaya's retreating form. You hope you'll see her again soon. You hope you've made the right choice. You hope it's worth it.

\--> BE ERIDAN AMPORA

When you received the message from the Capitol, you waited for happiness to come, but it never came.

You had reported the Makara/Nektan incident right away, of course, being the responsible soldier that you are. As a result of that, the Capitol reviewed your records and achievements (and also your status as the only remaining violetblood on the platoon), and decided that yes, they were going to make you the youngest High Side captain in history.

You are now the captain.

Why doesn't it feel...great?

Maybe it's because you only got this position because a purpleblood--someone fuckin' lower than you!--killed the previous captain. You didn't like Nektan, but it still feels like a slap in the face, for violet blood to be spilled that way. Now you feel like you got this job, one you've coveted for so long, as a last resort. Not cool. Eridan Ampora is no last resort!

And worse is the fact that your beloved lusus is still in boxed up in a corner of your tent, refusing to look at you. What the fuck is wrong with him?

"Nothin's wwrong wwith Seahorsedad," you mutter to yourself angrily. "The pukeblood fuckin' did this to him. He used his dark lowwblood magic and bewwitched my fuckin' lusus!"

How the fuck did the lowblood do it, anyway?

Whatever. You have more important things to worry about, now that you're captain. One of them is the fact that three people are rotating back to the Capitol tomorrow, and you have a feeling none of them are going to be happy about it.

"I'm sorry, Fef, this is for your owwn fuckin' good." You're sad to see Fef go; she was what made the army life worthwhile every night and day, even if she was and still is oblivious to your scarlet feelings. But all the military greats of history had to make sacrifices. You are far from the first one, and you aren't going to fuck your career up by succumbing to your bloodpusher. Besides, you're already being far too nice on her.

Then you think of the other two. You crack your first smile all day. You're not doing this for the good of the other two assholes. Far from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations for getting to the end of said block of text that is Chapter 10! I hope the pesterlogs weren't too confusing. It was hell formatting that shit. 
> 
> A big THANK YOU to all of you who have been commenting! You literally brighten my life with your comments, even though I so totally do not check my account every few hours to see if anyone's left a new review. Totally not me at all. }Xo)
> 
> Also: random observation. Have you noticed that all the lowblood Pesterchum handles, except for Karkat's, have the letter A in them? e.g. AA, AT, TA, AC, and GA. And all the highblood Pesterchum handles, except for Vriska's have the letter C in them: GC, CT, TC, CA, CC. Coincidence?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may have noticed already, but I am adding art to this story. My drawing skills are mediocre at best but I couldn't help it LOL. I'm planning to add one illustration per chapter and I've already illustrated Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 7, 8, and 9. From here on out I plan to upload the chapter and art together! So here is the art for this chapter: https://yzydragon2222.deviantart.com/art/Drop-the-fuckin-club-717472634

Chapter 11

\--> BE GAMZEE MAKARA

If you are being honest with yourself, you don't like Tavros's friend Mary-Kanaya-whatever-the-fuck-sister all that motherfucking much.  Neither did the two of them get along as well as you thought they would, considering how much Tavros cares about her and his other Low Side friends.  It made you stupidly giddy when Tavros still chose to cling to your side for the majority of her visit.  If her jadeblood ass weren't so important to Tavros you probably would have killed her for her judgmental glares.  You do have to admit, however, that she obviously cared about your little miracle and even though it made you itch when she touched him, her hugs were full of concern for and devotion to him.  You'd also be blind as the Pyrope chick if you couldn't see how upset Tavros is after she leaves, so you keep your stupid mouth shut.  

You are surprised by Tavros, to be honest.  You were ready to abscond on a whim today, but of all motherfucking things Tav decides he wants to stay.  But you shouldn't be surprised, not really.  Of course he would have selfless motivations, hasn't he proved to you over the past few weeks that he is just a bundle of selflessness and compassion rolled up into one tiny little brownblood body?

You ponder over the news Tavros revealed overhearing from Captain Nektan.  You think about how just weeks ago, before Tavros became such an integral part of your life, you would have been indifferent, perhaps a bit excited, by the news that the Capitol had found a way to decisively end the war.  Not that you don't want the war to end now, but...a decisive Capitol victory no longer brings promises of restored normality and comfortable life for you.  It makes you sick to your stomach to think what could happen to Tavros.  

Part of you hopes that Nektan was just bluffing.  Unfortunately, you weren't familiar enough with his character to judge whether he would be the type to lie or exaggerate about "an invincible Capitol weapon".  You never really minded him before the abomination last night, because as your captain he never really bothered you much, or even as much as he was supposed to.  You never mingled much with the rest of your division, and you participated in drills and training only sporadically (not at all after Tavros's arrival), but he never gave you more than a few meaningless chastisements for it because he knew how valuable you were to the High Side as a fighter.  

Another part of you hopes that whatever he had to say about that Capitol weapon is pretty motherfucking important, because if it was just some bluff, then by staying here amongst highbloods and not absconding when he had the chance, Tavros is unnecessarily putting himself in more danger.  You hate it when he is in danger, which is essentially all the time.

You sigh.  You have never felt as out of control of fate as you do now.

You carry him back to your tent and you wonder how badly this is affecting him, not being able to walk.  Other than that encounter from two sweeps ago, you've never seen him walk, since he was already shot and paralyzed when Serket brought him here.  Carrying him is normal for you by now but you have to remind yourself that being carried is not normal for him.  And the devastated look in that Kanaya motherfucker's eyes when he revealed the news is yet another reminder of how much has changed for Tavros.  You don't mind carrying him, but you've noticed that with each time you pick him up, his legs feel more and more unnaturally atrophied, and you are hyperaware of the way they don't even twitch.  He dismissed your concerns about your role his injury, but the guilt is still burning from your gut and licking at your insides.

It is with supreme unhappiness, guilt, frustration, and anger that, after you get back to your tent and put Tavros in your recuperacoon, because it is getting late and he is obviously exhausted from everything, you decide to clean his four-wheel device.  You have to stop yourself several times, because you scrub so hard, with a vengeance towards--yourself, Nektan, the Capitol, highbloods, lowbloods, everything--that you almost accidentally break the wheels off the actual seat.

Fortunately, though, the entire endeavor doesn't take too long because the device is relatively easy to clean, and soon enough you deem it worthy enough for Tavros to use again.  You are pooped out when you are done after everything that has happened, and you stumble blindly to your horn pile, ready for some shut-eye, when you are startled by the sound of Tavros's voice coming from your recuperacoon, soft but clear.

"Gamzee?"

"Motherfucker, you damn near put my vascular systems into termination, man, I thought you were motherfucking asleep already."

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry, about that, I didn't, mean to startle you, or anything, like that..."

"Chill, Tavbro.  Ain't no problem.  This motherfucker's always happy to hear your voice, but I'm off to the land of dreams as well; motherfucking tired after all."

"You should sleep here, in your recuperacoon...."

He tells you this almost every morning when it's time for bed, and you are quite amazed by his persistence.  You've already told him that the 'coon is going to the one who needs it more and after sleeping so many soporless sweeps, the one who needs it more is definitely him.

"Rest your tits in that motherfucking slime, man, I ain't dragging your miracle ass out of the 'coon.  I can deal with shut-eye on my miracle honk hill of horns over there."  You point at your horn pile.

"No, Gamzee, that's, uh, not what I'm suggesting."

You blink.  "Huh?"

"I mean, uh, I don't intend, for my ass to be, uh, dragged, out of slime, where it now, uh, is."  He coughs awkwardly.  "I was thinking, since this recuperacoon is pretty, big, and I am, rather small, in stature, and I can't feel my legs, anyway, maybe, you could come in and we could, share."

Oh.  "Oh," you say.  You eye the 'coon, and sure, it's not as big as the one you had at home, but at home you lived in a mansion of a hive fit for a purpleblood so everything was motherfucking huge.  Yes, both of you can definitely fit.  "I don't want to be up and doing anything that'll make a brother uncomfortable..." While technically possible, sharing a 'coon was...not common, among trolls.  

"I, uh, wouldn't have suggested it, if it would make me, uncomfortable, if that is, what you are saying."  You still worry that he's just being nice, but then he says, "Please...Gamzee?  I also...don't want to be, alone, today."

In a flash you are next to the 'coon.  "Shoulda up and said something, Tavbro.  You don't ever have to worry about being a lonely motherfucker when this clown is up and close."

He smiles at you and you take your shoes off and climb in. You feel the tension in your muscles immediately relax when you sink into the green slime for the first time after weeks without it.  Like he said, he is small in stature and his body doesn't take up that much space.  However, it is still a snug fit.  You're facing him and his face is at eye-level, and for a moment you lose yourself in his warm brown eyes.  

Then he moves closer to you as best he can without the lower half of his body and you automatically wrap your arms around him and help bring him closer, and damn you don't think you'll ever get used to how warm his lowblood body is, even though you have carried him countless times by now.  His face finds its way to your chest as though seeking safety and you are only too happy to give it.  You can feel his breath against your skin and those bulky horns press against you, but surprisingly, but they feel hard and strong butnot uncomfortable.  It should feel awkward, this should, with the two of you pressed into such close proximity inside your recuperacoon, but it doesn't.  These are desperate times, after all.

You fall quickly into a dreamless sleep and your arms around him feel like that's where they always should have been.

\----------

"Makara!  MAKARA!"

You groan sleepily.  What the motherfuck is that pesky voice calling at this god-awful hour?

You turn, determined to ignore it and to let the annoying voice yell itself hoarse.  You find a pair of large horns pressed against your chest and you smile at the warmth huddled against your body.  
   
"MAKARA!  Get your clown ass out here this instant!"

Man, that voice is pretty motherfucking persistent.  A frown settles over your face.  Is that voice calling for you?  What the fuck does it want?  It's effectively woken you but you are determined to ignore it.  You don't feel like dealing with people right now.  Well, except for your little miracle but he's an exception to everything.  

"Uh, Gamzee?  Gamzee I think, someone wants to, talk to you.  Well, not that I think that, because it is actually, a fact, that someone wants to talk to you, because whoever he is, is yelling rather loudly, but what I do think, is that maybe you should get up..."

This voice is softer and much less persistent but it's the one that finally gets you to open your eyes.  The first thing you see is green slime and a pair of chocolate eyes.  How motherfucking miraculous.  "Huh?" you say, rather stupidly.

"Someone is calling for you, Gamzee--"

"MAKARA, IF YOU DON'T COME OUT IN TEN FUCKIN' SECONDS I AM GOIN' IN THERE AN' HAULIN' YOUR ASS OUT MYSELF!"

This, however, is the thing that gets you to actually climb out of your recuperacoon. You never liked it when people intruded upon your quarters before, but with Tavros by your side now you don't MOTHERFUCKING TOLERATE IT.  "Calm your motherfucking tits," you growl at whoever's outside, "I'm up and coming."  

On your way out you hastily wipe slime from your face and grab one of your juggling pins.  Whoever dares threaten to come into your tent "and haul your ass out himself" more than deserves a MOTHERFUCKING CLUB TO THE FACE.  And the motherfucker will never see it coming.  You lick your lips and wonder what color of blood you're about to splatter.  Then you remember how much Tavros hates killing and you falter a bit--and you tell him, "Stay in there," even though he can't get out of the 'coon himself without your assistance anyway.  

But once you open your tent, you don't have the chance to even raise your club.  A rifle is immediately shoved into your face.  Holy fuck.

You are genuinely surprised.  You'll have to give him that.  "Looks like someone's motherfucking prepared," you chuckle without any mirth.

"Drop the fuckin' club, you stupid purpleblood, and listen to me," says Eridan Ampora.  

He's wearing his uniform--not that you can remember ever not wearing his uniform.  The uptight motherfucker always wants to be "prepared" or some shit, Fishsis told you before but you didn't bother remembering.

"That ain't no way to talk to a brother in the evening, motherfucker," you tell him.

"This is the way I'll talk to you any time a' the fuckin' day," he snarls.  "I'll do wwhatevver I fuckin' like because I'm in charge here an' there's nothin' you can do about it.  And it's sir or Captain Ampora to you, Makara."

You gape for a few moments before you start chuckling.  No wonder the little guy was talking like that.  He never seemed to like you before but he never got all in your face like this.  "Never thought they'd find a replacement so motherfucking quickly."

His face grows violet at that and he shoves the rifle even closer to your face so that you actually go cross-eyed for a moment.  "I'm NOT a fuckin' replacement, Makara," he almost shouts.  "Unlike you, I am actually a positivve contribution to this army.  There's nothin' funny about the situation."

"Hey, calm your tits, my motherfucking sensitive bro. There's NOTHING WRONG WITH A LITTLE SPRINKLE OF HUMOR ON YOUR MOTHERFUCKING SELF," you tell him.  "Only the ignorant think that mirth--"

"I don't wwanna hear about your stupid clown religion, Makara--actually, I don't wwanna hear anythin' else from your smartass mouth.  Noww, I SAID, drop the club."

"Then drop the motherfucking gun, Ampora."

He suddenly smirks.  "Drop the club, Makara, or I'll bloww up your ugly face.  Then I'll step ovver your dead body, which will be the only thing betwween you an' your shitblood an' wwho knowws wwhat'll happen then." 

You drop the club.

"Good boy," he says condescendingly, his fins flaring proudly as you growl.  "Noww that you're actually listenin', I can say wwhat I came here to say.  In fivve hours, a hovvercraft is gonna arrivve at camp."  You wonder why he's telling you this; hovercrafts from the nearest town come periodically to provide food and supplies; this isn't cause for him to wake you up with a gun in your face.  But then he continues, "I reported yesterday's incident and headquarters wwants you back for disciplinary action or re-evvaluation or some shit.  Why they aren't discharging your ass right awway, I havve no idea, but I'm not questionin' their reasonin'.  You havve fivve hours to pack for home.  That should be enough for you as long as you don't zone out or go into some miracle trance from your wwhatevver-the-fuck messiah or start fuckin' killing people, AGAIN."

You stare at him for a long time, for once, completely speechless.  

You're being disciplined?  After all the people you've already killed on the platoon, why now?  You ask him as much.

"Because I ain't a fuckin' pushover like Nektan," he says.

You're going home?

To the Capitol?

And suddenly your bloodpusher stops as the possible implications fall upon you.

"What about Tavros?" you blurt before you can stop yourself.

"Wwhat about Tavvros?" he repeats mockingly in a abominable imitation at your much deeper voice.  "Don't wworry, take your shitblood wwith you, I don't wwant him."

Your heartstrings relax a little. 

Until he says, "The Capitol is wwaitin' for him, after all.  I'm sure he'll lovve wwhatever they havve in store for him."  

He turns on his heel and stalks away as if your blood hasn't just run cold.

\----------

What is the first thing you do after Eridan delivers that big news to you?

You go back inside your tent, you tell Tavros what happened, and burst into tears, that's what.

Like you give a fuck about being re-evaluated, or whatever shit they're going to do to do to punish you for your little crimes.  But they want Tavros, too?

You have never felt as powerless, or as devastated.

In a moment of numbness, you wonder why you care. Tavros is just a bronzeblood, and you are GAMZEE MOTHERFUCKING MAKARA, and for all these sweeps no one else has mattered, and look how powerful you became because of that.  Someone else's fate shouldn't bother you.  

But Tavros was never just someone else, was he?  He is the messiahs' gift to you, with the stunning ability to amaze and confound you with his compassion and bravery, even if he didn't know it himself.  And were you ever really so powerful? you now wonder.  You became both a subjugglator and a soldier against your free will, although both occupations ended up satisfying your bloodthirsty nature in the end, so you didn't really care.  But you recall Tavros saying to you once that he pitied you for "having to hate lowbloods because you are a highblood."  It's eye-opening, how, for all these sweeps, you thought you were someone high and mighty and important, but really, you were just a pawn to Alternia's hemospectral games all along.  The moment your desires went against Alternian society's caste standards, you became just as powerless as a lowblood.  Privilege wasn't a choice; it was forced upon you.  A burning hatred for the Alternian government and everything it stands for suddenly consumes you.

But now isn't the time for these revelations.  You are still just standing in the middle of your tent like an idiot, and it's only when Tavros is struggling to climb out of the 'coon and nearly falls out of it that you are spurred into action. 

"What the motherfuck are you doing?  Your skinny ass could have fallen out!" you exclaim, rushing to his side.

"Yeah, but I, had to do something."

You pick him up and he hugs you, and you feel his psychic powers in your thinkpan.  Why is it that every time something distressing happens, he is the one comforting you, when you should be the one comforting him?  In fact--he looks rather resigned but calm about this.  How is he so motherfucking calm about this?

"Because, I am just, looking at this entire situation, from a broader perspective," he explains to you.  

"I'm putting on all sorts of funny glasses to look at this entire motherfucking circumstance and every perspective looks the same number of awfully unmiraculous to me."

"But Gamzee, I already consider myself, so lucky," he says.  "You have no idea, the kinds of stories, Low Side soldiers like to tell, about getting captured by, highbloods, who are very heartless and cruel, in nature."

"In the end your lowblood friends were pretty motherfucking accurate."

"No," he insists as you put him down on the four-wheel device.  You lean down and place his bony feet on the footplate.  Holy shit, his left foot is still broken and swollen and you had completely forgotten about that.  You feel a wave of fury but he seems to sense you looking at it and he says, "It's okay, it doesn't, heh, hurt.

"What was I saying? Oh, right, about how they were not accurate," he continues.   
"Some highbloods, are, um, heartless and cruel, of course, and I am sure that most lowblood prisoners-of-war suffer, to a great degree, because of said heartlessness and cruelty.  But, since getting here, Feferi, who's like, so high, I mean she's basically the highest blood, Feferi's been taking care of me and I've actually healed nicely--well, as much as a broken spine, is able to heal, anyway...um yeah.  But I heard that most lowbloods' injuries go untreated and that sounds, very painful...

"And then Terezi, who talks to me, and is pretty funny, I mean she was there to take my mind off things, a lot of the time...and then she found Kanaya and she didn't report her, that could have been such a, huge disaster...

"And there's you, of course, and I think everything was worth it, in the end, because getting to know you proved that not all highbloods are evil...and you're very high, on the hemospectrum, as well...you're the first person who ever thought that I was okay, or even thought I was, actually strong, as a troll, that I wasn't pathetic or useless, that I, shouldn't change who I was...and you're also the first person, to ever call me pitiable.  I really thought, that no one would ever find me pitiable, because of the, unattractive qualities of my, character, which for some reason, you seem to find, miraculous."

There are so many things you want to respond to that, but there is one thing that you can't handle.  "Stop saying was, Tavros," you plead.  "Stop saying all of those motherfucking things like they're all up and part of the past.  This...this isn't motherfucking over yet.  WE aren't motherfucking over.  They can't just fuck around with Gamzee Makara like a chew toy of some barkbeast.  I...I'll figure something out, there's some words out there that'll motherfucking convince those Capitol bitches, and this motherfucker's gonna find them and direct those words out of his speech hole, and when he's done the Capitol--they won't take you away from me."  

He doesn't respond but gives you a sad smile that scares you more than anything he could have said.  He rolls the four-wheel-device backwards and away from you, and turns towards your horn pile.  "C'mon Gamzee.  We only have a few hours, to pack up all your stuff.  You sure have a lot of horns..."

Putting your things away feels surreal, and also like a death sentence.  Tavros helps pick up your horns wherever he can reach them, and the horns plus your clothes are really the only things that you brought with you anyway (also Faygo, but you're not about to bring empty soda bottles back to the Capitol with you).  You stuff all of your possessions into the large duffel bag in which you brought them here in the first place.

When all of your things are stowed away, Tavros stops you before you zip up the bag.  "Um, Gamzee, could you come here?"

"Sure, Tav," you say, and kneel in front of him as he pulls out--that's his palmhusk.  

"The password is this," he says, and he types it out on the screen to show you.

tO DIE, wILL BE AN AWFULLY BIG, aDVENTURE,

"You have to use my quirk, though...it will automatically lock you out, if you use the wrong quirk."

"Why are you showing me this, Tavros?"

"Well, I'm going to ask Sollux to find a way to contact you, too, via your own palmhusk, if you have one, but in the meantime, could you keep this safe for me, and tell my friends if anything happens?"

"Nothing's gonna happen," you say, panicking slightly.

"...Right," he says.  "But Gamzee, if we're going back to the Capitol, chances are, we'll hear more about the weapon, they're creating, so maybe the fact that we're going there is a good opportunity, to gather intelligence.  But just in case I'm...busy, could you tell them, whatever they need to know?"

You don't like the sound of this at all, but Tavros looks at you with pleading eyes and you can see how important this is to him.  "Please...for me, Gamzee?"

"Okay," you finally say, reluctantly.  

"Thank you," he smiles.  "Let me just, let them know."

adiosToreador [AT] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA]

AT: hI, SOLLUX,  
AT: wHEN YOU HAVE THE CHANCE, cOULD YOU MAYBE,  
AT: fIGURE OUT A WAY, sO THAT GAMZEE COULD CONTACT YOU, vIA HIS OWN DEVICE,  
AT: i PROMISE YOU, tHAT HE CAN BE TRUSTED,,,  
AT: iN THE MEANTIME, cOULD YOU LET EVERYONE, KNOW, nOT TO, uH, FREAK OUT, iF GAMZEE TROLLS YOU THROUGH MY PALMHUSK,  
AT: eSPECIALLY, kARKAT, aS FREAKING OUT, iS, sOMETHING HE SEEMS TO BE PRONE, uH, tO DOING,,  
AT: i AM GIVING MY PALMHUSK TO GAMZEE, fOR, uH, sAFEKEEPING, bECAUSE THERE HAS BEEN A SLIGHT, uH, cHANGE, iN PLANS,,,  
AT: bOTH OF US, aRE BEING TAKEN, bACK TO THE CAPITOL, iN A FEW HOURS, bECAUSE OF,, uH, rEASONS,  
AT: oNE OF WHICH I THINK IS BECAUSE THE NEW CAPTAIN DOESN'T, uH, lIKE US, tHAT MUCH, wHICH IS, uHH, oNE WAY OF PUTTING IT, i GUESS  
AT: wE MIGHT BE ABLE TO FIND OUT MORE INFORMATION, oN THE WEAPON, oN THIS TRIP,  
AT: bUT I DON'T KNOW HOW LONG, iT WILL TAKE,,  
AT: mAYBE, iT WILL,,,  
AT: tAKE FOREVER,,,  
AT: iF I, dON'T COME BACK, pLEASE TELL EVERYONE THAT I

He suddenly rubs his eyes vigorously.   "Could you tell them that I...could you give them my love, if I'm...busy, at some point?" he asks you.

Holy shit, that makes your bloodpusher hurt so hard.  "I promise, motherfucker, but you're gonna have plenty of free time on this wicked iourney so don't fret about being...busy," you say, but you know you don't sound convincing.

adiosToreador [AT] ceased trolling twinArmageddons [TA]

\----------

"It's here, asshole.  Get goin'."

Your bag is swung over your shoulder and you are pushing Tavros in his four-wheel device as Eridan marches in front of the two of you, leading the way to the entrance of the cave where the hovercraft is waiting.  

Since your tent is near the back of the cave, you have to walk past nearly the entire camp.  A lot of soldiers are standing around, trying to look discreet, but they are obviously just watching the procession pass by.  As a purpleblood, and descendant of the Grand Highblood, no less, you're used to stares and being the center of attention, whether that attention be good or bad; however, you can see how Tavros's head is bowed and his body curled within itself as he sits on the four-wheel device, as though trying to melt into it.  You so badly want to gouge those judgmental eyes out of each and every one of their faces, but you can't, not now.  Not with Eridan still holding that motherfucking rifle of his right in front of Tavros.

It's when you're in the cobalt section of the camp that someone actually speaks out. "Toreadork?"

Vriska Serket steps forward and Tavros turns to face her.  "Oh...hey Vriska," he says shakily.

Her expression is quite unreadable.  "So you're leaving," she huffs.  "Why does the Capitol even want someone as useless as you are?"

"Uh...I, d-don't know."

She looks at him for a few moments before huffing again.  "Why did you ever say your name was 'Toreador', anyway?  Where did that silly name even come from?"

"Um...it's just...a silly nickname, that my lusus, came up with, since Tinkerbull is, or was, a fairy bull, and whenever I was being, uh, uncooperative, as a wiggler, he would call me a toreador, which means bullfighter--"

"Yadda yadda, I only asked a simple question, not your entire life history, dumbass.  Besides, that's buuuuuuuullshit, lusii don't talk!  Or did your lusus never teach you that?"  She laughs at her own joke, but Tavros just looks uncomfortable.  You glare at Vriska and Eridan's nostrils flare.  The three of you know what Vriska doesn't: that Tavros can commune with lusii.

"Well, if you don't have anything else to say then go!  I should have known you would still be boring.  Goooooooo!  Adiossssssss, toreador!"

Tavros stiffens for a moment and you wonder why, before you remember that his chat handle is "adiosToreador".  Vriska just unwittingly said his Low Side chat handle out loud.

However, it seemed to be accidental.  "Bye, Vriska," he mumbles.

"You shouldn't say goodbye so easily," she snaps.  "You should be mad about this!  Ugh, whatever.  It's not like I should have expected more from you.  This isn't really farewell anyway.  Hmph.  I'll see you again, I'm sure of it."  She turns on her heel without another word and stalks off.

You don't know why, but at that moment, you platonically hate Vriska Serket less than you ever have before.

\--> BE TAVROS NITRAM

You are honestly puzzled by Vriska. First she tells you goodbye, but when you say bye back to her she gets frustrated at you.  You are still terrified of her and her words still cut deep and hurtful, but you don't despise her, because she was one of the few people here who didn't mock you for being a lowblood.  She mocked you for being pathetic, but you honestly preferred that over stereotypical comments about the dirty mud in your veins.  

And Feferi had told you that Vriska had saved your life that day.  If she hadn't found you, no one would have known that your bloodpusher had stopped.  You can't help but feel grateful towards her, despite everything.

"Are you slowwpokes done kissin' goodbye?  Come on, come on!"

The violetblood captain in front of you didn't look intimidating at first, being short and pretty skinny and also surprisingly young--two sweeps older than you, at the very most, but he more than made up for it in his hateful expressions and the impatient commands he barked.  He seems a lot more serious and determined than Nektan was, and you would be glad to be leaving a platoon under his direction, if it weren't for the fact that you were headed someplace much worse.

When you sent that message to Sollux, you knew there was no "if you came back".  Unlike Gamzee, you have no illusions about what's going to happen to you.  Sollux had hacked into the Capitol's media coverage several times, and prisoners-of-war were always put to highly public "trials" that were more for show and highblood entertainment than anything else.  Those trials overwhelmingly ended with some kind of painful execution for the lowblood, or a life as a slave or something degradingly horrible.  
   
You feel bad for dumping all of that on Sollux at once.  The poor guy seems callous but he's actually probably the most sensitive one out of your group, except for you, maybe.  He just internalizes everything and tries not to show it. You hope he isn't too sad about you.  Oh gog, you're counting on Aradia to keep him grounded.

You also think that Sollux would be the most understanding about trusting Gamzee, for some reason.  

You honestly don't know how you are remaining calm.  Everything seems kind of numb right now.  Perhaps the truth of your fate hasn't truly settled upon you yet.  Maybe you'll start freaking out after boarding the hovercraft.  At least you have Gamzee by your side now.  If anything, you are going to spend the last days of your life enjoying Gamzee's presence as much as possible.

Oh gog.  Just the thought of having to leave Gamzee squeezes your bloodpusher so hard that you can't decide whether you need to choke or cry or scream.

How did you ever get on without his cool, comforting, protective presence before?

When you finally reach the hovercraft, you are frustrated to see a set of narrow steps leading up into it.  You can feel the stares and snickers of the surrounding highblood soldiers, and blood rushes to your face.  

"Go on, lowwblood.  No one's gonna wwalk for you," says the violetblood, looking back and forth from your legs to the stairs as though he expects you to crawl up them, but before you have the chance to consider doing such a thing, Gamzee is picking you up out of the chair and you can literally see the way his muscles are quivering with restrained fury.  

He carries you into the hovercraft, which is gray and circular inside.  It has only a single compartment (not including a tiny bathroom stall in the side), and it isn't too large, which makes sense, considering that it is built to travel to areas of wilderness like this.  There are a row of seats that also fold out into cots.  

And in a corner, hooked up to what looks like hundreds of dangerous-looking wires that feed into the walls of the hovercraft itself, is a yellowblood helmsman.  Hooked up isn't even the right word--impaled, or stabbed, more like--his skin is swelling with yellow in all the places where the wires fed into his skin. He must be one of the unfortunate lowbloods who didn't manage to escape during the revolution.  Despite the situation, you once again thank the fairies, lucky stars, deities, whatever--for how lucky you've been until now.

"Good evening, highblood.  It is my honor to serve you," the yellowblood says tonelessly to Gamzee, but he ignores you altogether.  

Gamzee ignores the helmsman and puts you on one of the seats.  "Let me go get your four-wheel device," he whispers to you.  He returns just moments later with the said wheeled chair, and puts you in it.  He locks the brakes for you so that you won't skid around while the hovercraft moves, and pulls out several hidden buckles in the chair that you didn't even know were there, and straps your legs and feet in so that you won't fall off.

Then he sits down next to you, looking tense as hell.

You don't know who moves first, because neither of you speak or are even looking at each other, but somehow your hands find each other, and you cling tightly to Gamzee and he clings just as tightly back.  

\--> BE FEFERI PEIXES

"Fef--"  He reaches out to you, but you toss his hand away.

"No!  Don't you dare, Eridan!  I don't want to talk to you, or look at you, just go away!"

"I--just wwanted to say goodbye--"

"Goodbye?  GOODBYE?  And who's fault is that, anyway?  Or should I say, CAPTAIN?"

You're standing right outside the hovercraft, your bags packed and your eyes stinging--about what?  You honestly don't even know.  Of your lost faith in the High Side cause?  In Eridan's douchebaggery?  Of Tavros's impending doom?

Seriously though--honorable discharge?  After what happened yesterday?  

You're not even pissed about being essentially kicked out of service, anymore.  It's Eridan's timing that gets to you.  That, because you disapproved of Tavros getting violated and tortured, you weren't fit for service?  What kind of message is that?

"C'mon Fef, you knoww you don't have to call me that--"

"But everyone else does?  Why don't I, Eridan?  Is it because you like me, or because I'm fuchsiablood?  Do you only like me BECAUSE I'm fuchsiablood?"

"N-no, a' course not, you're such a wwonderful troll Fef, I--"

"But wonderful is something YOU're definitely not!" you snap.  

"I'm sorry, Fef.  I knoww howw much you lovve bein' a nurse, even though I can nevver understand wwhat's so appealin' about stitchin' body parts back together.  But I did this for you, Fef, you can still be a nurse back in the Capitol, and I couldn't let you stay, not after I saww howw upset you wwere yesterday--"

"'Stitching body parts together' is called saving lives!  Of course you wouldn't know anything about that, you only destroy them.  And you don't have the right to 'let' me do anything," you say.  

He looks guilty, but he looks away and mumbles, "But I do.  I'm the captain noww, and you're my responsibility."

"FINE!  Be an egotistical bastard all you want!" you shout in disbelief.  "I don't want to call someone who thinks what happened last night is okay my captain, anyway!"

"These are times of wwar!  Of course stuff like that is gonna happen sometimes, I'll admit it wwas disgustin', but they wwere just havin' some dirty fun--"

"How can you call that fun?  Fun involves not RAPING someone.  RAPE is a serious crime!"

"Cod, Fef, it's like you don't knoww anythin' about Alternian law at all!" he exclaims, frustration truly leaking into his voice by now.  

"Anyone with common sense would know that rape is--"

"Wwrong, yeah, yeah, I got that.  But it isn't rape wwhen it's a piece of shit you're pailin'.  It's only rape wwhen you take an olivveblood or higher against their wwill, anyone lowwer doesn't havve such a thing 'free wwill" anyway!"

You are shocked into silence for a few moments.  Is that actually the law you swear loyalty to?  Does it actually condone the rape of people like Tavros?

"It wwas a pretty fuckin' gross wway to showw it, but Nektan wwas just showwin' that shitblood his place," Eridan continues.  "Fef, you gotta realize that lowwbloods are bad newws."

"But Tavros isn't like that!" you cry, struggling to find something to say now.  "He doesn't have a bad bone in his body!"

"Sure he doesn't," Eridan replies sarcastically.  "It doesn't matter wwhat 'Tavv' is like, all that matters is that he's a shitblood and all of them are born bad."

"UGH!" you shout, unable to take this any longer.  

You stand there, fuming, and Eridan gradually starts to look more and more unsure once again.  After several awkward moments of silence, he reaches out to you again and says, "Look, Fef, there's no point wwallowwin' in all this noww, and I really hoped wwe could separate on good terms because I--"

"SHUT! UP!" you yell.  His hand touches your shoulder and the paleness of his touch is so familiar that it hurts, all the way up to your fins, because you still enjoy that touch.  You know your ex-moirail so well--his mannerisms, his insecurities, his fears, his speech, his inflated ego--and yet you realize that you didn't really know him at all, not if what he now preaches are the standards of his morals.  "Don't touch me, I--I hate you!" 

He recoils, as if burned, and his entire expression melts into one of complete hurt.  You immediately regret it, because after EVERYTHING you still do care about him, but at the same time, you don't think Eridan deserves anything nice said to him right now, so you pick up your bags and stalk up the stairs into the hovercraft without looking back.

\----------

Gamzee and Tavros are already sitting in the hovercraft when you board, Tavros in the four-wheel device, and both of them silently looking away from each other but with their hands tightly intertwined. Seeing them distracts you from your thoughts about Eridan, though the subsequent thoughts are not much better. Eridan already told you that Gamzee is being sent back to the Capitol to be disciplined for the murder he pulled last night, but you have no idea what's going to happen to Tavros. You've only known Tavros for a few weeks while you've known Gamzee for many perigees, yet they've become regular fixations in your life and you can no longer think of one without thinking of the other. The likelihood that they are going to be separated in some tragic way is just too high.

"Fishsis? What's a motherfucking sister doing here?" says Gamzee.

"F-Feferi?" says Tavros, looking surprised to see you. He looks at your bags. "You...you're all packed, too."

"You didn't know?" you sigh. "Eridan had me 'honorably discharged', because of psychological ineptitude to handle trauma, or somefin like that."

"Eridan?" Tavros asks uncertainly. Right, because he's never actually met him before.

"He's the violet motherfucker of a captain," Gamzee supplies. He pins you with an unnerving stare, and despite the fact that you've gotten better acquainted with Gamzee lately, it still makes you squirm in discomfort. "I thought that blasphemer was your motherfucking moirail. Why would he kick out a quadrant from the army?"

You scowl. "EX-moray-eel," you mumble.

"Oh. Well, you could've done better than an unmiraculous motherfucker who spouts those hateful words, anyway."

You are so used to defending Eridan that you almost open your mouth to do so, but then you stop yourself. Gamzee is actually...kind of right.

"Feferi..." Tavros pipes up, sounding uncertain.

"Yes, Tavros?"

"Do you think...I mean...does...does your discharge, have anything, to do with me?"

Absolutely, it does. His arrival is what caused this entire upheaval. If you hadn't grown attached to the bronzeblood in the first place, probably none of this would have happened. You would still be an army medic, proudly and loyally serving the troops of the Alternian empire. Eridan would never suspect you, and you would still have a moirail.

You never would have found out that lowbloods can be brave and kind and compassionate. You would never have attempted to stand up for what was right, even if everyone else thought it was wrong. You would never have realized how much and how little being a fuchsiablood simultaneously means.

"No, it was just Eridan being petty, as always," you assure him.

He bites his lip, looking unsure, and you feel the need to stride over to him and kneel in front of his four-wheel device.

"I regret nothing. Okay? Nothing. Everyfin I've done for you, I would do again. And anyfin else I can still do, I will do. Got it, mister?"

You reach up to ruffle his Mohawk and he smiles. He doesn't see the glare that Gamzee sends you when you touch Tavros's head, and you quickly withdraw your hand.

You sit down a few seats from Gamzee, deciding to give him and Tavros their space. Within a few minutes, the hovercraft begins moving, and Gamzee and Tavros put their heads together and begin speaking to each other in low tones. You feel lonely and sad and you want to talk, but you decide not to be selfish and interrupt them. Gamzee and Tavros deserve every last minute of time together. The two of them have a strange way of communicating with each other; even when they're not saying actual words, the looks and glances they give each other seem to speak so loudly and you always feel like you're intruding upon a private moment.

You turn away and think about what's next for you. You are not looking forward to fussy, uptight, pretentious Capitol life again. Maybe you can do as Eridan said, and continue to be a nurse--maybe work at one of those hospitals for soldiers who were so gravely injured that they were sent home.

Those soldiers, given that they recover, will become Alternian heroes. How many of those soldiers, you wonder, have tortured and raped other lowbloods like Tavros?

Oh cod. You think about Tavros's friend, Kanaya. You had honestly been a little offended by her, because she seemed to be completely ungrateful towards you even though you had helped Tavros out of the goodness of your heart, and she also easily insulted you with that airy manner of hers. She'd called you cowardly and ignorant, and while you were offended at the time, now you think--perhaps she was right.

Well, if there's one upside to this entire fiasco, it's that you'll get to see your lusus, Glb'golyb, again. She's been awfully silent lately.

About ten minutes into the journey, you are distracted from your thoughts when Gamzee leans over and help Tavros unlock the brakes of his four-wheel device. Tavros turns around and wheels himself towards a corner of the hovercraft and--

Oh my COD. What is THAT?

"Um, hey," Tavros says to the troll sitting there, and how did you not notice before?

The troll in question has hundreds of wires feeding into his skin, making it swell and bleed gold blood. His large eyes are protruding from his face, and you look down and see that his wrists are cuffed to the chair in which he sits.

"Oh my cod!" you yell, startling everyone. "What is that, what's wrong with him?"

Gamzee turns his lidded eyes towards you. "That's the motherfucking helmsman, Fishsis. Every motherfucking transportation device that's gotta travel with speed has one."

Of course you know what a helmsman is; it's basic knowledge that yellowbloods' psionic powers make them ideal for powering vehicles. Vehicles of varying size and power are equipped with helmsmen depending on each individual goldblood's level of power.

But you realize now that every other vehicle you've ever traveled on had more than one compartment, and you never entered the compartment where the helmsman resided before. You had no idea that this was what it entailed. You thought the yellowbloods were given a comfortable control room or something, not this! This poor soul's body was basically being used as a machine!

"Hello, highblood. Welcome to my transport ship. It is my honor to serve you."

"You--you can talk?" you sputter, because his expression is so dead (and so is his voice) that you didn't really expect him to be able to.

He doesn't turn his head or even his eyes. In fact, nothing moves at all except for his mouth when he answers you, as though he is just a computer, programmed to reply. "Yes, highblood, I am capable of speech," he replies.

Both Gamzee and Tavros are looking at you now, and the unruffled expressions on their faces throws you off. "How are the two of you okay with--this?" you cry.

Gamzee looks dead serious. "I'm a motherfucking subjugglator, Feferi," he tells you, and of course, that answers everything. As a purpleblood, he is responsible for keeping the lower castes "in check", so he would be well acquainted to the intimate details of this kind of horrendous treatment of yellowbloods.

Then you look at Tavros and you regret having asked the question. "Of course, I'm not okay with it," he says softly. "That's why, the Low Side, that's why we're fighting this war."

You feel like you're swallowing sand.

Tavros turns back to the yellowblood. "Um, hi. What's your name?"

Silence.

"Um, it's okay, I guess, if you don't want to tell me. My name is Tavros."

Silence.

"I'm sorry, if you don't want to talk to me, but, uh, I just assumed, that you don't get to talk to people, very often."

Silence.

"I'm a bronzeblood, so I'm actually, lower than you, so it's okay, to tell me to stop, uh, if you want to."

Silence.

You are just beginning to think that Tavros is really quite amazingly persistent, and adept at having a completely one-sided conversation, when Gamzee suddenly jumps to his feet and roars, "HE'S MOTHERFUCKING TALKING TO YOU, PISSBLOOD. Did you not hear what Tavbro said? DOES HE NEED TO SAY IT AGAIN or do I need to get my walk on over there and cut open your mouth myself?"

You shrink in your seat, your terror of Gamzee renewed, but to your surprise, Tavros reproachfully yells, "Gamzee! Don't!"

A flicker of guilt flashes across Gamzee's eyes. "Sorry, Tavbro," he says, his voice completely different. "I just can't stand a motherfucker up and ignoring the questions you're singing in his ear ducts." Then, towards the yellowblood, Gamzee says, "I up and apologize, motherfucker. Clearly you've got a tongue in function because you answered Fishsis just fine. Why won't you talk to Tavros?"

"Because I do not speak to lowbloods, highblood."

"But you're a lowblood too," you can't help pointing out.

"But he is bronze and therefore lower. I only answer to highbloods, highblood."

You are offended at the goldblood in Tavros's defense, even though you know in your bloodpusher that it's not really the goldblood's fault for saying these things. Tavros, however, seems unfazed. After a pause, he says, "I only want to be your friend. Gamzee and Feferi are both my friends, even though, I am a so low."

Silence.

"I actually, have a very dear friend of mine, who is a yellowblood, as well." Your fins perk up in interest.

"His name is Sollux, and he is very good, with computers. He is one of the smartest people, I know."

Silence.

"The first time I tried to talk to him, he didn't answer me, either, but it was because, he thought I was being, uh, annoying."

Silence.

"Maybe that is why, you, uh, are not answering me either. Do you think, I am annoying?"

Silence.

"HE ASKED, motherfucker, IF YOU THINK HIS MIRACULOUS VOICE IS ANNOYING." You can tell Gamzee is having a hard time controlling his temper.

For the first time, the yellowblood's eyes flicker with hesitation. "No, I do not think he is annoying, highblood."

Tavros chuckles awkwardly. "Sollux, uh, would have told me, to fuck off," he says. "You can say that to me, if you like."

No reply.

"Sollux is a really powerful psionic, too, and if he had been conscripted, uh, I think, he would have been able to power, a spaceship," Tavros says. "But I don't really care how powerful, he is, because he is a good friend."

You smile at the fondness Tavros obviously has for his friend. Even though you don't even know anything about him besides his name and the few things Tavros has just said, you find yourself curious about this Sollux. You are glad that he didn't have to become a helmsman.

Tavros finally sighs, finally finding the endeavor to be truly hopeless, and starts to turn the four-wheel device away from the yellowblood. However, Gamzee gets up again.

"You, pissblood--I mean, motherfucker," he says. "You control this moving transport device, don't you? And you said you follow highblood orders?"

There is yet again that flicker of hesitation. "...Yes."

"Then this is a subjugglator giving you a motherfucking order, and you better open your ears and listen. Don't go to the Capitol. Don't even go motherfucking near that place of chaos and blasphemy. Take us into a place where the wilderness runs like a wild wiggler, 'cause these motherfuckers want to abscond."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, highblood."

"We'll set you free, if you do that for us," you add. Gamzee and Tavros look at you in surprise, but you DID offer to abscond with them. You are aware that doing so would be treason, but all of a sudden you don't really care anymore. "Just take us someplace safe where the Capitol can't find us, and then you'll never have to be a helmsman again."

"That isn't possible, highblood. These wires are programmed to send a fatal shock to my brain if anyone attempts to remove them."

Oh. Wow. You feel a surge of pity, anger, and despair.

"I'm, so sorry," Tavros says quietly.

Again, the yellowblood refuses to answer Tavros.

"Then, what if you did it, as a favor, to a fuchsiablood?" you try. You hate pulling the fuchsiablood card but if that's what'll work, what can you do?

"Even if that weren't treason, that wouldn't be possible, highblood," the yellowblood says. "This hovercraft is programmed to move from the army camp and the town of Lotam. I am merely here to power the vehicle."

You sigh in defeat, but Gamzee's ears seem to perk up in interest. "Wait. We ain't goin' straight to the main city?"

"No, highblood. It will be a two-day journey to Lotam. You will board another vehicle to the Capitol from there."

"Motherfuck," Gamzee whispers. He collapses in his seat with a stricken look on his face.

"Gamzee?" Tavros asks tentatively, sensing the purpleblood's distress. Their eyes meet and again you feel like they're having a silent conversation. He wheels towards Gamzee and the purpleblood scoops the bronzeblood into his arms and buries his face into his mohawk.

"Lotam is motherfucking location of a big ass military prison establishment," he says. "It's the only one that's completely guarded by subjugglators."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you thinkkkkkkkk? }:o)
> 
> Hope the art wasn't too bad.
> 
> Also, would Eridan really shove a rifle in Gamzee's face? Yes, he really would. I love Eridan.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update 2/22/2018: New art for this chapter by my dear friend inheritedpancakes! https://www.deviantart.com/art/Gift-3-732290499 More of her amazing art in Chapter 14, go check it out! <3

Chapter 12

→  BE NEPETA LEIJON

You quite like this hideout.  It is a dry and warm cave, with a small, unassuming mouth but a very spacious inside that makes it a perfect hiding place from highbloods. Also, you are very comfortable with living in caves, for some reason.  Still, it is hard to enjoy much of anything in this situation.

When Kanaya had returned from the highblood camp, sadly sans Tafuros, she immediately went to Karkitty and helped tend to his arrow wound.  Out of the six of you--you still include the absent Tafuros in your group, because you refuse to lose faith that he will come back to you--Kanaya is the most adept at medical care.  You had helped Karkitty clean the wound up as best as pawsible (he cursed quite a lot when you did that) but you are quite clueless when it comes to first aid and healing if you may say so yourself, so you were more than happy to hand him over to Kanaya's capable hands.

You saw Aradia curl up in a corner of the cave and begin to quietly cry to herself--you can empathize, because she is even closer to Tafuros than even you are, and you are pretty close to him yourself.  You were about to go comfort her, but then Sollux, ever the good moirail, got up and starting papping her.  

That left you alone, with no one to talk to.  

Actually, not true, there was one person.  But...

You glanced at the indigoblood who was sitting in a corner, removed from the rest of you, looking awkward and dazed. You kind of felt bad for him, because you can't imagine how painful losing one's horn must be.  It's too bad, because, judging by the one he still had intact, he had pretty cool ones.  

Still, he's a highblood, which means that he is dangerous.  I mean, even if he weren't a highblood, his musculature alone already looks dangerous. So while everyone else was distracted, you decided to take some of the spare rope you brought with you and tie him up, so that he couldn't escape or kill all of you in your sleep or something.  

As you approached him, you couldn't tell whether he was watching you or not.  He was wearing those weird cracked sunglasses of his and they effectively hid his eyes from you.

He still hadn't acknowledged you even when you were standing right in front of him, and, annoyed, you snatched his glasses right off of his face!

It turns out his eyes WERE looking at you after all, but they widened considerably when you took his glasses off.  

"What are you doing, lowblood?  Return my property to me at once!"

"Why do you wear these silly glasses anyway?" you sniffed, deliberately holding them out of his reach.  "You look better without them!"

He looked taken aback by your statement. It took him several moments to regain his scowl and say, "It doesn't matter.  Return them to me, lowblood."

"Stop calling me lowblood!  That's not my name!"

"I do not care what your name is.  You are just a lowblood."

"Rrrude!" you trilled, even though you put the glasses back on his face.  He scowled at you.

You grabbed his forearms and looped the rope around them.  You are very good at tying sturdy knots.  His arms were toned and hard as steel.  Whoa.  He immediately began to sweat and he sputtered, "What-what are you doing!"

"What does it look like I'm doing, mister?  I'm tying you up!  It's not like we can just trust you, even though Tafuros says you're okay."

"What?  Who does that foolish name belong to?"  He frowned.  "Is it that brownblood cripple that the highblood is so inappropriately...fond of?"

You bared your sharp teeth at him.  "Don't.  Call.  Tafuros.  That."

He looked shocked at your display and you continued to bind his arms and legs.  Finally, he said, "Stop."

"No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Stop now, lowblood."

"No way!  And I said don't call me lowblood! You're such a prick."

He sweated some more.  "Do not use such lewd language, lowblood.  I command you to stop!"

"Tch, like I'm listening to anything you have to say!"

"Are you disobeying me, lowblood?"

"Of course I am, Mr. Obvious!"

He gaped, as though unable to believe you would actually disobey him.  But curiously, his struggles and attempts at stopping you ceased after that.

Finally, he said, "This is entirely unnecessary.  I will not hurt you or any of your...comrades.  I was given specific orders not to harm any of you, even if you HORSE around like the lowblood ilk that you are.  I will carry out those orders until the highblood returns."

The way he said it gave you no doubt that he indeed would refrain from hurting you, but you replied, "Okay, but what about when the highblood comes back?  Or what if he nefur comes back?"

He sputtered and sweated some more, unable to come up with a satisfying answer, and after you made sure the knots were tight and inescapable, you walked away and left him to his thoughts.

\----------

Kanaya was exhausted from her journey and Karkitty was injured, so Sollux and Aradia offered to take turns keeping watch over the day.  You would keep watch tomorrow, but today you got to sleep.  

You dreamed about Tafuros; both of you were running freely in a grassy green field, holding hands and laughing with joy.  Pounce de Leon was running alongside you; Tinkerbull, Tafuros's lusus who you've never met but have heard so much about, was flitting about Tafuros's huge horns.  You came across a painted line across the grass and you easily stepped over it, still running, but as you crossed the line, Tafuros abruptly let go of your hand.

Confused, you looked back and saw Tafuros on the other side of the line, lying on his stomach as though he had fallen.  

"The mighty bull has tripped, but his furiend the brave lion waits for him to stand back up so that the two of them may continue on their conquests!" you cheered.

But Tafuros didn't stand back up.  His eyes widened in alarm.  "Nepeta, I can't!  I can't stand up!" he cried.

"...Tafuros?"

You ran back towards him but when you tried to step across the line you were thrown back, as though you had run into an invisible wall.

"My legs!  What's, wrong, with them?" he sobbed.

And then, to your horror, a crowd of highbloods appeared behind Tafuros. They seized his horns and his legs and started dragging him away from you.  He screamed and sobbed in hysteria.  "NEPETA! HELP!"

"Tafuros! TAVROS!" you screamed, helpless and unable to do anything as you watched cackling highbloods drag your friend by his limp and useless legs away from you--

You woke up with a start, beads of sweat clinging to your forehead.  Without sopor, you've had nightmares every night for the past few sweeps, but you don't think you'll ever get used to it.  "Fuck," you mumbled.  You were incredibly thirsty, but your canteen was running low on water.  The five of you had brought food rations, too, but you were going to have find more if you wanted not to starve.

You looked around.  Kanaya and Karkitty were both still slumbering, and Aradia was on watch, an asleep Sollux curled up with his head in her lap.  The fact that Tafuros wasn’t there broke your bloodpusher.  
   
You stood up and stretched.  It looked like early dusk outside.  If you wanted to get out, it would be the perfect time to do so; not early in enough in the day for the sun to leave anything more than a painful sunburn on your skin, and not late enough to risk prowling highbloods from the nearby camp.

You picked up your backpack and collected everyone's water canteens in it.  You'll fill them up.  

Then you put on your trusty claw gloves.  You're going hunting.

You didn't bother putting on your uniform jacket, staying instead in your tank top.  When you're hunting, you like to feel natural and almost primal, giving in to the instinctive predatory side of your feline personality.

"Nepeta? You okay?" Aradia called out to you wearily.  

"Oh hello Aradia! I am just fine!  I am just going out to find water fur all of us and fur a quick hunt!" you said, masking the lingering distress from the nightmare in your voice.

Aradia looked at you worriedly.  "Are you sure that's safe?"

"I purromise to be careful! I won't take too long or go too far!"

Aradia still looked worried.  "I understand, but I'd feel better if there was someone with you.  How about I come with you?  I'll wake Sollux up and he can take over guard duty."

"That's not necessary--"

"I'll go with her."

Both you and Aradia swiveled around at the deep male voice that spoke suddenly.  

"No one asked you...Zahhak," Aradia said, an unreadable expression on her face.

"Zahhak?" you asked her.

She sighed.  "That's what he said his name was,” she said in hushed tones.  “Equius Zahhak or something.  He's so fucking weird, he kept trying to talk to me while I was on watch.  Then he would say that he shouldn't be talking to me because I'm a rustblood.  And then he would say I should feel lucky that he was talking to me at all!  Like what the hell?"

You glanced at the indigoblood and even through the cracked shades that he was STILL wearing, you could see his eyes pinned on Aradia and beads of sweat rolling profusely off of his body.  Sighing, you turned to him.  

"I don't need you come with me.  I'll be purrfectly fine on my own!"

"I know this area better than you do.  I know where to find water and I can...make sure nothing happens to you.  The highblood would be most displeased if you were hurt," he said.  "Besides, lowblood hooligans cannot be trusted to look after themselves in the wild."

Besides his last statement about lowblood hooligans, he did have a point.

"Nepeta?" Aradia asked you.

"Ugh, fine," you grumbled.

"Alright then, Zahhak, you may go with Nepeta, but you are to leave all of your weapons behind and walk in front of her at all times so that you can't strangle her from behind or somethin.  If the two of you aren't back by sunset, I WILL go out there and look for you myself, and if you've laid a finger on her, Zahhak, I will destroy you."  You marveled at the way Aradia could lay down threats so coolly.

You expected him to argue with Aradia, but instead he bowed his head hesitantly, as though warring within himself, and said, "Yes."

"Yeah, mister!  If you step out line, the fearsome kittycat will bite and scratch!" you warned.  

You stepped towards him to untie him from your ropes, but to your surprise, he stood up and broke free of them as easily as one would shrug off clothes.  If you didn't already know that the rope was made of the strongest twine, you'd think that it was nothing more than wet paper in all of its usefulness.  "What the hell?" you cried.  "What--how did you--do that?"

"I am very...STRONG," he said.

"If you're so strong, why did you wait all day to break free?" Aradia asked incredulously.

"I...because..."  He sputtered, and that time, his sweat really did start making a blue puddle on the cave floor.

\----------

True to his word, he led you a little ways away to a small creek where you gratefully washed up and drank your fill of water.  Then you filled up everyone's canteens, and then, because your backpack was starting to get heavy with the water, you made Equius carry it.  You also collected some wood so that you would be able to start a fire back at the hideout.  Then you made Equius carry that also.

You scouted the area for a while after that and managed to creep upon an unsuspecting deer.  You crouched low from behind a tree, and from behind another one Equius watched you.  

He looked puzzled at you when you didn’t reach for your gun.  You never use firearms when hunting, and you only brought it with you this time in case you ran into any real predators or worse, highbloods.  But when you’re hunting, you like to fight fairly, predator to prey.

“How do you intend to--” he started to say.

“SHH!  Watch and learn from the huntress!” you hissed.

You focused on your prey, allowing all other distractions to go away, your pupils turning to slits as you watched.  After several silent minutes, you pounced from behind the tree, paws forward and teeth bared, and sank upon the deer, swiftly slicing its stomach with your claws, your sharp teeth embedded in its back for good measure.  Your hair, lips, clothes, and skin became spattered with the creature’s blood, but far from feeling disgusted, you felt invigorated.  

(This is probably why you and Tafuros weren’t closer. He was a great buddy and a pawesome roleplay partner, but your love for hunting and his adoration for animals would sometimes clash, even though he understood that death was a part of nature.  It was a topic the two of you avoided, because you couldn’t fault him for loving animals and he couldn’t fault you for loving to hunt.)

You were distracted from your thoughts when Equius stepped forward and said, “Are all lowbloods this...savage?”

He honestly sounded more impressed than disgusted, even though you could tell he was trying to hide it.  

You smirked.  “Nope!  Just me, beclaws I'm special.”

“Those cat puns are foolish.  You will stop.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“Oh, shut up!  I'll do whatefur I want!  Meow carry this back for me!” you said, pointing at the dead deer carcass. It should be enough to feed all of you for the next two days or so.

On the way back, as you walked behind the indigoblood, you observed the effortlessness in his muscles as he carried the heavy load.  

“It's purretty cool how strong you are, you know,” you commented.

You kept walking without having noticed that he'd stopped.  You walked right into the hard wall of flesh that he is.  

“Hey! Watch where you're stopping, mister!”

He peered down at you over his shades so that you could actually see his blue eyes.  

“You don't think I'm a...freak?” he asked.

You squinted up at him.  

“No,” you answered honestly.  “I think you're kinda furreaky and weird, but efurryone is furrreaky and weird in some way!  I also think you're ignorant and annoying and you wear funny glasses and you call me lowblood even though that's not my name, but--you're not a furreak!”

You could’ve sworn he was trying to hide a smile.  But he’s a snooty highblood, so you were probably imagining it.

“Even if you were not a...lowblood, you never told me your name so I cannot call you by it,” he finally said.

“I’m Nepeta.”

“Hm.”

The two of you were silent for the rest of the way back to the hideout.

→ BE SOLLUX CAPTOR

You woke up to the smell of cooking meat.  Through your heavy lids, you caught sight of a small fire and NP, KK, and KN sitting around it.  Judging by the remains of a bloody carcass nearby, NP had gone hunting and brought back a deer.  Blegh.  Venison sucks but you can’t afford to be picky when you’re in the middle of a fucking war.  Sitting against the cave wall and away from everyone else was that weird blueblood.

“Hey,” someone said.  

You smiled at the voice because it’s so sweet and comforting. AA was crouching beside you and papping your face lightly.

“Hey AA,” you mumbled.  

“Hey yourself, sleepyhead.”

Since everyone else was already awake, she must have let you oversleep for a little bit.  You are exhausted because you stayed up for half of the day to keep guard, but AA was obviously in the same situation judging by the dark circles under her eyes.  Still, she looks so strong and alert, while you feel groggy and shitty, and that makes you feel kind of pathetic but it also doesn’t make you feel any less tired.

“We’re making breakfast,” she told you.  “Nepeta refilled our water supply and also caught a deer.  I know you don’t like it but it’s the best we’ve got.  Wanna get up and have some?”

You groaned.  “Five more minuteth, AA…”

You could practically hear her rolling her eyes.  Her hand was still on your cheek and you could feel her finger tracing a diamond on it.  Did she really expect you to wake up while she was doing that?  Jegus AA.

“Five more minutes?” she asked.

“Um, no?  Maybe ten? Fifteen?”

“Nope, too late, Mister Captor.  You said five so five more minutes it is.”

“You thuck.”

“Only because I pity you.”

“Pity you too,” you mumbled, closing your eyes and taking full advantage of your five extra minutes.

Of course, because the universe fucking hates you, it felt like you had barely closed your eyes before AA was shaking you again.  Or maybe AA was just being evil as usual and had given you less than five minutes.  You’ll never know.  

“All right, I’m up, I’m up,” you told her, dragging your uncooperative scrawny limbs off the hard cave floor and stretching.  She papped you one last time and went over to join your other friends by the small fire.  

KK, who had no shirt on and had a white bandage wrapped all the way around his torso, gave you his customary evening greeting by flipping you off, which you gladly returned.  After shoving your glasses onto your face and grabbing your palmhusk, you walked over to join them.  As you sat down, you turned your palmhusk on to check for messages and to your surprise, adiosToreador’s name was flashing on the screen.

“Did TV methage the retht of you too?” you asked.

AA, KK, and NP shook their heads and KN checked her palmhusk quickly.  “No, he did not.  What is it?” she asked.

“I don’t know.  Let me thee.”

AT: hI, SOLLUX,  
AT: wHEN YOU HAVE THE CHANCE, cOULD YOU MAYBE,  
AT: fIGURE OUT A WAY, sO THAT GAMZEE COULD CONTACT YOU, vIA HIS OWN DEVICE,  
AT: i PROMISE YOU, tHAT HE CAN BE TRUSTED,,,  
AT: iN THE MEANTIME, cOULD YOU LET EVERYONE, KNOW, nOT TO, uH, FREAK OUT, iF GAMZEE TROLLS YOU THROUGH MY PALMHUSK,  
AT: eSPECIALLY, kARKAT, aS FREAKING OUT, iS, sOMETHING HE SEEMS TO BE PRONE, uH, tO DOING,,  
AT: i AM GIVING MY PALMHUSK TO GAMZEE, fOR, uH, sAFEKEEPING, bECAUSE THERE HAS BEEN A SLIGHT, uH, cHANGE, iN PLANS,,,  
AT: bOTH OF US, aRE BEING TAKEN, bACK TO THE CAPITOL, iN A FEW HOURS, bECAUSE OF,, uH, rEASONS,  
AT: oNE OF WHICH I THINK IS BECAUSE THE NEW CAPTAIN DOESN'T, uH, lIKE US, tHAT MUCH, wHICH IS, uHH, oNE WAY OF PUTTING IT, i GUESS  
AT: wE MIGHT BE ABLE TO FIND OUT MORE INFORMATION, oN THE WEAPON, oN THIS TRIP,  
AT: bUT I DON'T KNOW HOW LONG, iT WILL TAKE,,  
AT: mAYBE, iT WILL,,,  
AT: tAKE FOREVER,,,  
AT: iF I, dON'T COME BACK, pLEASE TELL EVERYONE THAT I

You were vaguely aware of the others asking you what TV said, but your ears suddenly filled with ringing and you didn’t hear a single word.

TV is the master of misdirection.  The fucking MASTER, the way you are the expert of duality.  Whenever he needs to say something difficult he’ll add a bunch of meaningless words and ums and uhs and commas around it to try to soften the blow. But despite the many distracting words and separative punctuation marks that appear on your screen, the most important ones still jump out at you and echo around your thinkpan even though you want to just shut it all down and forget, forget, forget.

The Capitol.

The capital of Alternia and lowblood plight.  The birthplace of you and your friends and all your suffering.  The pinnacle of injustice. The origin of highblood evil and cruelty.  The epicenter of nightmares.

You know that AA and TV lived nearer to the city outskirts before the war, because the two lowest castes were usually used as agricultural slaves.  You, however, lived in a cramped yellow-green district in the slums of the city as a wiggler.  No one higher than olive lived there, but highbloods and sometimes even some midbloods frequented the area to pick up cheap lowblood prostitutes or force lowbloods to a number of demeaning and often illegal tasks.

Despite your efforts to remain anonymous, your unusually strong psychic powers, your shaky control over them (at the time; you’ve gotten much better), and your loudly unorthodox-looking eyes gained you notice.  They highbloods somehow figured out that feeding you mind honey would make your powers go destructively berserk, and countless times, they would make you consume it in order to get rid of their enemies without their direct hand in the deed.  Or worse, they would make you consume mind honey just to see how many people you could kill for their own sheer entertainment value.  You have nightmares about the people you don’t know you killed or maimed, because your memory is always spotty after a mind honey episode.

You’ve seen the Capitol since the war started.  You haven’t physically been there, no, but you’ve seen it.  You’ve seen the pictures on the news written by the highbloods, always heavy in hemophobic language.  You’ve watched the videos of lynchings and trials and executions of the lowbloods in the city, whether they were captured from the Low Side or simply never joined the war in the first place.  You never want to watch to those videos.  But when you hack Capitol media for information and those abominable images show up instead, you can’t look away even though you hate yourself for it.  Those gruesome things somehow have a way of making you not look away, as much as they repel you.

But the subjects of those videos--oh fucking gog, you remember the last one you saw, just a perigee ago, where an oliveblood prisoner-of-war was burned to death--were always strangers.  Your only camaraderie to them was being a fellow lowblood, and that made your bloodpusher bleed with sympathy for them, but you didn’t KNOW them.  

Is TV going to be in one of those videos the next time?  You already know that for the next few weeks, you’re going to obsessively check the Capitol media outlets to see if you can find any news on him, even if you’ll be scared as hell of what you might see.  Are you going to see one of your best friends--fuck, TV is your moirail’s ACTUAL best friend with a capital BF--get humiliated, burned to death, in the middle of that city of suffering?

You looked at the words on your palmhusk again and suddenly you’re shouting, “PLEATHE TELL EVERYONE WHAT, TV?  WHAT?  For fucking once why don’t you have the ballth to jutht thay it?”  You were momentarily so angry for some reason.  What does TV think you are, a messenger?  Why make you the harbinger of devastating news?  Couldn’t he have messaged KK instead?  Why the fuck is he talking about this like it’s so normal, like he’s just delivering any old piece of news?  Hi Sollux.  How are you?  By the way, I’m going to the Capitol to die the worst death you could possibly imagine and there’s nothing you can do about it!

You were vaguely aware of AA prying your palmhusk from your hands, and you assume that the others must have been reading TV’s pester because all of them fell awful quiet all of a sudden.  

You looked up, your vision blurry and weird, and you saw KK just standing there, staring into the flames of the fire.  

Then he started laughing, which was perhaps the weirdest thing you had ever witnessed.  

“What is this?” he whispered--and whoa, KK not shouting?  “Why?  Fucking why?  After--everything--all of this--it was all for nothing.  Nothing at all.”

Everything was quiet for a moment, until, in an uncharacteristic act of violence (even for KK), that contrasted startlingly with his whisper-voice, he kicked the burning wood in the fire, hard, sending flaming logs everywhere.  You, AA, NP, and KN, all had to jump to avoid the burning logs.

“He needs to get his fucking facts straight.  I’m not prone to freaking out,” KK breathed, in response to TV’s comment, and then he turned on his heel and stalked away.  NP quickly followed him, probably to comfort him as she is always wont to do.

KN looked devastated.  “I--I was just there.  I actually saw him.  I saw what condition he was in.  I should have insisted--how could I have allowed him to stay there?  I should have--”

“Shut up, KN,” you snapped.  “TV’th a big boy.  He can make hith own fucking dethisionth and thith wath hith choithe.”

She frowned.  “That subjugglator.  If it wasn’t for him--”

“That’th neither here nor there.  Tavroth ith probably halfway to the Capitol by now and there’th no fucking point moping about the could-have-beenth.  Bethideth, it’th not like Tavroth ith even blaming the purpleblood.”

AA papped your cheek, and only when she did so did you realize that electricity was crackling all around you, flooding from your eyes, and that even KK was looking at you with minor alarm on his face.  You hadn’t lost control so badly in a long time.  

You exhaled sharply.  Then inhaled.  Then exhaled and inhaled and exhaled again.  You blinked rapidly and tried to tamp down the electricity.  “Oh my gog, AA.  Oh gog, oh gog,” you choked, your bloodpusher sticking in your throat.

“I know, Sollux.  I know,” she breathed in your hair, and you hate yourself for having to depend on your moirail for comfort because YOU should be the one comforting her; if this is affecting you and KK and KN and NP so badly how terribly must this be tearing AA up?  

(Even though you knew that AA and TV’s relationship was completely platonic, you were sometimes jealous of what they shared--another thing that made you feel like an asshole.  The two of them were the only two of the six of you who understood and spoke the old lowblood dialect and slang, even though neither of them really used it.  They came from the most similar backgrounds out of all of you and they both loved the concepts of heroism and adventure.  Their contrasting personalities complemented one another well, with TV in deep admiration of AA’s wisdom and AA in deep respect of TV’s purity.)

She continued papping you until all of the electricity around you dissipated into nonexistence.  Then she took you by the shoulders so that you were facing her.  “Sollux,” she said seriously.  “Are you going to do it?”

“Do what?”

“Get in touch with the purpleblood, like Tavros asked.”

You hadn't even been thinking about that, distracted as you were that TV’s being sent to the Capitol.  That’s another thing about AA; she always takes control of every detail no matter what the situation, being very driven by results.  One of the only few times you saw her truly fly off the handle was when she saw TV get shot at the battle the other day.

You blinked at her question, though.  It was still a no-brainer for you.  “Of courthe I am.”

She frowned at you.  “Are you sure that’s safe, Sollux?”

You frowned back.  “You know how competent I am at coding, AA.  I can definitely find a way to methage the subjugglator without getting detected by the High Thide.  Maybe I can check out that Equiuth dude’th palmhuthk to thee what kind of encryption the High Thide utheth.  I’ve never been able to actually look at a High Thide devithe handth-on before--”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Sollux.  You know I have complete faith in your abilities,” she sighed.  “It’s just...I’m still hesitant about trusting a highblood.”

“I thought we agreed that we were going to put our faith in TV though?  And clearly he wantth uth to trutht thith guy.”

“I know,” AA said.  “And I love and trust Tavros, but...we just don’t know how much of his judgment really is compromised right now.  It was different when the highblood said he wanted to abscond with Tavros; we couldn’t really do anything to stop that, could we?  But this time we can refrain from actively reaching out to this ‘Gamzee’.”  

While AA had a point, you also thought that she wasn’t giving TV enough credit.  That’s the thing: AA is excellent at seeing problems and fixing them, and as such, she can be sometimes be savage in pointing out someone's flaws.  As much as she adores TV, you know that she thinks he is a softie sometimes. It's why TV seldom does any of the decision-making among you guys.

You, on the other hand, are excellent at seeing all the ways YOU are fucked up, and the way you don’t even hold a candle in comparison to other people most of the time.  A side effect is that you often see others’ strengths, even though you’d die before telling KK you thought his leadership was inspiring.  As such, you know that TV would literally send himself to his execution before putting any of you in danger.  

Which is essentially what he’s already done.

You told AA this.

She still looked unconvinced, but to your surprise, KK stepped forward and said, “Look, Aradia, I think now would be a really excellent time to take your fancy-schmancy smartass logic and suspicion and stuff it down your throat like a wet cucumber.  If we’re being honest with ourselves, we’re already screwed beyond the point of screwed; I mean our nooks have literally been ripped the fuck open by our own chopped-off bulges and they’re just hanging loosely like completely unfuckable shitty curtains right now.  If it turns out that the fucking subjugglator is a backstabbing piece of shit who doesn’t care about Tavros at all, which in retrospect is the most fucking likely scenario, then it’s not like the situation could get much worse anyway.  But if we put our faith in the fairy wimp fuckass for once before the highbloods cull him, then maybe, just maybe, we might gain a purpleblood ally in the end--and Tavros can fucking die in--p-peace.”

There was a silence among the five of you, and, unable to stand it, you turned away and walked over to where the blueblood was sulking, watching all of you out of the corner of his eye.  

“Give me your palmhuthk,” you told him.

“What?  Why would you need it, lowblood?”

“None of your fucking buthineth, oceanthpray.”

You could tell by his expression that he did not appreciate your nickname for him.

“Look, do I really have to explain thith to you?  Me, Thollux Captor, equalth computer geniuth.  Computer geniuth equalth I like to fuck around with electronicth.  Jutht give me your palmhuthk.  I’ll give it back to you later if you’re tho worried.”

He probably knew that he was in no position to argue, so he reluctantly took it out of his pocket but still seemed hesitant to hand it over.  Impatient, you activated your psionic powers, and in a cloud of red and blue light, his palmhusk floated through the air from his hand to yours.  You took great satisfaction in his yelp of surprise and displeasure.  

“You will not do that, lowblood!”

You ignored him and walked back over to the place where your backpack lay, and pulled out your portable husktop.  You plugged in his palmhusk to your device and ran the simple hacking application that you had developed to unlock his palmhusk.  And, okay what the fuck.  Maybe this was the reason he was so hesitant to give it to you.  His screensaver is a picture of--you know what, let’s not even go there.  Let’s just say you didn’t know a picture of musclebeasts could be so explicit and make you want to vomit into a bucket.  

You smirked at him and he started to sweat profusely.  That guy has issues.

First, you checked his device’s operating system and uploaded the details onto your husktop.  You were too weary to study it now, but from the cursory inspection you gave the codes, the High Side’s encryption systems didn’t seem too different from the Low Side’s; however, their security wasn’t as tight (probably because they didn’t have genius hackers like you on their side, ehehe).  You’re thinking you can modify a version of Pesterchum that can be compatible to these High Side devices to send to TV’s purpleblood; one that would allow him to connect with you and KK and the others, but no one else on the Low Side.  If you sent the purpleblood the current version of Pesterchum, he would be able to message anyone on the Low Side, even the general of the army, and you don’t think she would be too happy about getting pestered by an enemy subjugglator.

You already knew that while the Low Side uses Pesterchum, the High Side uses Trollian to communicate among one another; you’ve hacked Trollian communications countless times before.  However, this is the first time you’ve had access to Trollian from an actual High Side account.  

You downloaded Trollian from his palmhusk onto your husktop so that you would be able to send and receive messages from the blueblood’s account if you’d like.  You were about to disable the feature to send or receive messages from his palmhusk (don't want him contacting the High Side while here, after all), when his musclebeast porno screen lit up with a new message.

terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling centaursTesticle [CT]

You took a moment to appreciate the blueblood’s wonderfully disgusting handle.

TC: Yo, My HoRsEbLoOdEd MoThErFuCkEr.

Holy shit, you recognized this quirk.

TC: I dOn’T rEaLlY hAvE mY iNtErEsT oN fOr HoW tHe MoThErFuCk YoU’rE dOiNg.  
TC: BuT mY tAvRoS hAs GiVeN mE tHe SuGgEsTiOn ThAt BrEaKiNg A mOtHeRfUcKeR’s WiCkEd HoRn AiN’t PoLiTe.  
TC: even if that motherfucker looks at miracles like dirt  
TC: TAV SAYS EVEN MOTHERFUCKERS LIKE THAT DON’T DESERVE TO HURT.  
TC: So I’lL uP aNd SaY sOrRy.  
TC: HoNk. :o)

You swallowed, trying to get rid of the queasy feeling in your stomach.

Of course you'd noticed the blueblood’s broken horn, but you'd assumed it was just some kind of unfortunate accident.  But if what Gamzee’s saying is to be believed, the breaking of Equius’s horn was very much deliberate, and the purpleblood was the one who did it.

TC: BuT a WiCkEd ApOlOgY aIn’T tHe MaIn ThInG tHiS mOtHeRfUcKeR cAmE hErE tO sAy.  
TC: NeEdEd tO uP aNd LeT a BrOtHeR kNoW tHaT tHe MoThErFuCkIn PlAnS hAvE gOtTeN a LiTtLe ChAnGe On.  
TC: ThErE mIgHt Be An UnDeFiNaBlE nUmBeR oF eXtRa DaYs BeFoRe I cAn GeT mY rEtUrN oN tO yOu MoThErFuCkErS iN tHaT tHeRe HiDiNg PlAcE.  
TC: bUt If YoU cOnSiDeR yOuR pAtHeTiC lOwBlOoD iNdiGo LiFe tO hAvE aNy MoThErFuCkIn VaLuE, tHeN yOu ShOuLd Be ReMiNdEd tHaT mY mOtHeRfUcKiN oRdErS hAvEn’T cHaNgEd FoR aNy SpAn Of TiMe.  
TC: ThOsE sHiTbLoOdEd MiRaClE bRoThErS aNd SiStErS oF hIs BeTtEr Be AlIvE aNd KiCkInG iN tHe KiNd oF wAy TaVrOs’S pItIaBlE lEgS cAn’T kIcK nO mOrE, uPoN tHe HoUr ThAt ThIs MoThErFuCkEr DrAgS hIs AnD hIs TaVbRo’S wIcKeD sElVeS bAcK tO tHaT pLaCe.  
TC: i motherfucking promised him that he would see those motherfuckers from the low rungs of the rainbow ladder again  
TC: EVEN IF THE JADE CHICK WAS A BITCH.  
TC: so even if death in his purest black self comes searching for some motherfuckin lowblood flesh  
TC: YOU’RE GONNA CULL THAT MIRTHLESS MOTHERFUCKER THEY CALL DEATH.  
TC: that is a motherfuckin order  
TC: REMEMBER THAT TAVROS IS THE REASON YOU’RE STILL MOTHERFUCKIN ALIVE.  
TC: but even his mirthful mandate won’t keep you that way if you up and upset the subjugglating clown  
TC: HONK.  
TC: honk  
TC: HoNk. :o)

terminallyCapricious [TC] ceased trolling centaursTesticle [CT]

With shaky fingers, you disabled all incoming and outgoing communications on Equius’s palmhusk except for those to and from terminallyCapricious.  Your head spun with everything you just read, from terror at the purpleblood’s homicidal tendencies, to relief at his weird obsession to keeping all of you alive, to disturbance of his almost worshipful tones towards TV, of all trolls, to utter confusion at his motivations and intentions.  The only conclusive thing the texts told you, however, was that there was good reason purple was the most feared blood caste, even if it wasn't the highest.

You returned the palmhusk to Equius, not bothering to stand up and floating it over to him with your psionic powers instead. "You've got a methage, hortheboy," you told him, but there was no heat in your voice. You tried not to feel bad for the blueblood when you saw him shudder while reading the message.

\----------

“I miss him,” you told AA.

“Me too,” she said.  “I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

\----------

“So what do you want to do, Karkat?” KN asked.

“What do I want to do?  Why are you asking me what I want?  Does it fucking matter what I want?  Hasn't life just proved over and over again that for lowbloods and mutants, what we want will only ever be as a real as one of those shitty fairy tale books Tavros dry humps in his sleep? You know what I don't want?  I do NOT want to be in this hole in a rock eating some animal Nepeta killed in the forest.  I do NOT want to be a fucking soldier and die before I get to fill a bucket.  I do NOT want to be in the middle of a fucking war! I FUCKING WANT TAVROS BACK!”

There was a stunned silence after KK’s outburst, during which his chest rose and feel rapidly from the exertion.

Softly, KN said, “Do not exert yourself too much, Karkat.  You are still--”

“Shut the fuck up, Kanaya.”

“Stop being an athhole for onthe in your life, KK,” you snapped, irritable, angry, tired, and heartbroken all at once.  “Thith ithn’t about you.”

“Well you can shove--”

“Stop it, you guys!” NP cried, and the true command in her tone gave all of you pause.  “This isn’t about Karkitty or Sollux or the big bad subjugglator or even about Tafuros.  This is about all of us, and you need to stop fighting!”

“What do you propose we do next, Karkat?” KN tried again.  “Should we rejoin the Rookies?”

“If Tavros is leaving for the Capitol, there is no real reason for us to stay here, anyway,” AA added.  “It’s dangerous, being away from the rest of the troops and so close to the highblood camp.”

He seemed to consider it for a few seconds. “No, let’s not leave yet,” KK said firmly.  “We’re in no hurry to go from this shithole to that other shithole, anyway.  At least we’ve got our own fucking space here.  And we’ve still got days before the platoon is evacuating the area. So I say we wait it out for a few more days.”

“What exactly are we waiting for?” you asked.

“I don’t know.  I don’t fucking know,” he spat in frustration.  “A fucking miracle.”

→ BE GAMZEE MAKARA

“Motherfucking miracle,” you breathe, looking at the sleeping Tavros.  

You don't how long it's been since the beginning of your journey.  Time seemed to tick by crawlishly within the confines of the hovercraft, yet at the same time it seemed to fly by, slipping through your fingers like sand.  You have no idea what time it is except that it's daytime already, because the windowpane had to be closed to block the blinding sun rays.  You could ask the yellowblood helmsman to tell you the time, of course, but you don't want to talk to the piss--uh, gold--blood, right now.

Fishsis, who had thankfully remained rather quiet throughout the entire journey, had long ago fallen asleep, but up until a few minutes ago your brownblood miracle was still fighting slumber’s sweet invitation.

“I love looking at those miraculous orange eyes, Tavbro, but I think it's time they went home behind those sweet sleepy motherfucking eyelids,” you told him as he struggled to keep himself upright in the four-wheel device.  

“M-maybe you’re, the one, who should sleep,” he yawned, still shaking his head stubbornly.  In his sleepiness, though, he forgot to take heed of his horns and they nearly smacked your face.  

“O-oh! I am, so sorry,” he cringed.  

“Nah, those motherfucking horns are the shit, man,” you told him, “but that's why you gotta sleep, my brother, horns like that being waved like a fucking flag on a sleepy little guy like you are a motherfucking danger to the world.”

“I'll b-be careful,” he protested stubbornly, now keeping his head unnaturally still.  “But really, you should sleep too, Gamzee.  We've been in here, for hours.”

“Nah, I'm not motherfucking tired,” you told him, and you're not.  There's too much worry and tension riled up in your thinkpan about the very near future. You suspect that Tavros would be the same way, but there's just been so much that he’s had to go through these past few weeks that sleep is hard for him to fight.

He opened his mouth to protest some more, but you leant down and released his legs from the buckles of his four-wheel device and easily picked him up by the armpits.  

“Ah, Gamzee, w-what are you, doing?” he eeped in soft suprirse.  

You pressed the button on the seat next to you with your foot and it automatedly folded out into a cot.  Pity there’s no sopor in this damn transport device, but even highbloods can’t be pampered forever, you suppose. (However, you wish you could pamper Tavros forever).  

“Can’t be comfortable for a brother to get his siesta on in a motherfucking wheeled chair,” you told him, sitting him down on the edge of the cot.  You sat down in his four-wheel device instead so that you could be comfortably at eye-level with him.  The device is way too short for you, because you had ordered it with consideration to Tavros’s small size, but whatever.  It’s not like you’re the one who needs it to get around, anyway.

“But I’m not, getting my siesta on, on a, uh, motherfucking, bed, either,” he giggled gently.  

You smiled at him.  “Your vision ducts are ready to close up shop for the day, Tav.  Why are you fighting the motherfucking snoozles like a stubborn bull?”

He looked into your eyes with a slightly crestfallen look, and you feel your bloodpusher plummet just a little.  “Because, uh…”  He licked his lips.  “If I fall asleep, I won’t, uh, get to see you, anymore.”

At these words, your bloodpusher sped up and you wondered if purple was clouding your face.  

“Don’t you get your worry on, my brother,” you told him.  “You’ll see me in your dreams.”

You sent a gentle mental suggestion with your chucklevoodoos for him to go to sleep.  It was really only a gentle prod, but because of how tired he already was, he swiftly slumped forward and you caught him in your arms.  

You gently push him back so that he is lying on his back on the cot, and then you bring his dangling legs over the edge of the mattress and carefully spread them out, too.  You run a hand through his soft hair, and in your thinkpan you start crafting the best motherfucking dream he’s ever gonna dream.

It takes a lot of your concentration, because you’re used to crafting nightmares with your chucklevoodoos, but not sweet dreams, but for your little miracle you do it anyway.  You push the dream into his thinkpan; he’s in a grassy field by a cliff, with a little windmill some ways behind him, and the stars are twinkling as brightly as his eyes in the sky.  And he’s got legs in this dream, and he’s running around happily.  You remember the day he almost died, and how, in that psychological plane or whatever it was that you saw him in, he had a pair of shimmering bronze wings.  You give him a pair of those in this dream, too, and he skips and flies and brightens the world with his ringing laughter.

And because he said he wanted to see you, you include yourself in the dreamscape, with you running and chasing him in a playful manner, while he teasingly flits backwards on his wings every time you are about to touch him.  However, in the dream, you are mostly just watching the miracle that he is, as you are wont to do in real life, anyway.

It must be a pretty motherfucking sweet dream, because in his sleep, his lips curl into a smile.

\----------

You fall into a trance-like state just watching him, but even though he’s right in front of you still feel like he’s not close enough.  You’re still sitting in his four-wheel device, and you scoot it a little closer to the cot.  He looks so peaceful and happy, still riding out the dream you crafted for him.  You don’t want to disturb him.

Carefully, you lie your head down on his thighs, and even though they’re thin and wasted and the protruding bones are hard against your face, they’re still a part of him, so you don’t mind it.  Your head is turned towards his face, and he doesn’t stir, because of course he doesn’t feel you.

Suddenly, the fact that he can’t feel you even though you’re right next to him disturbs you, and you jolt up off of his legs as if they were burning you.  You don’t know if the impulse is selfish, or if it’s for his sake, or what it is, really, but you need him to FEEL you.  

Carefully, you scoot up along the side of the cot and instead of lying on his legs, you rest your head on his chest, your nose just centimeters away from his chin.  Usually, the positions are reversed, with him lying on your chest and you trying to keep him safe, but as you nuzzle into the warmth of his torso you wonder if it wasn’t him protecting you this whole time.

This time, he does stir a little bit, and you smile because this time he CAN feel you, and you send him a few reinforcing tendrils of sleep with your chucklevoodoos to keep in him dreamland.

You aren’t tired, you tell yourself, but you fall asleep.

\--------

You hear a melodious whistling tune, and you ease out of sleep.  

Your position hasn’t changed since you fell asleep, but Tavros’s certainly has. His arms had been resting by his sides when you put him on the bed, but now there are fingers combing your thick, wavy hair.  

Unwittingly, you let out a purr (and whoa, you didn't even know you were capable of making a sound like that), and the hands on your head abruptly still.  The singing stops and Tavros coughs, as though caught red-handed.

“Nooooo, don’t stop, motherfucker,” you whine.

“S-sorry, I was just, um, I was--”

“Making this motherfucker see miracles in his dreams, bro,” you assure him, and after a few moments he slowly begins playing with your hair again, and his slightly scratchy voice continues its music-making.

You keep yourself from falling asleep again for a few more minutes, not because his ministrations aren’t making you feel like the most peaceful motherfucker in Alternia, but because his music is too beautiful to stop listening to.

His voice is what one could consider squeaky, and every ten seconds or so it cracks just slightly, and isn’t the kind of voice that would traditionally be deemed suitable for singing.  

But then again, his song doesn’t sound very traditional, either.  It’s unlike any lullaby you’ve ever heard.  There are no words, and the melody jumps and trills at random intervals and rhythms with no audible refrain or pattern.  It’s unusual and you are mesmerized.

 

“Where'd a brother learn a motherfucking bitchtits song like that?” you ask him.

“Oh!  Um,” he starts, “well, when I was wiggler, there were, lots of animals in the nearby woods, and I learned this, from the birds, who would sing, in the morning before bed.  It, uh, this one is, a, um...a, mating song.  But!  I just liked it, a lot, so I…”  He trails off.  

“Damn,” you say, “Tavros is like, from a motherfucking fairy tale or something.  Learning the motherfucking music of the wild.  That’s wicked bitchtits.”  You yawn.  “Miraculous birdies.  Motherfucking miracles.”

He continues to sing and you fall asleep again.

It’s only much, much later that you consider what he said about it being a mating song.

\----------

It all ends with a BANG.

It jerks you from whatever pleasant dream you were having, and you sit bolt upright.  You realize that up until a few moments ago, you were still lying on top Tavros’s chest.  Judging by the way he is blinking rapidly, he too had fallen asleep again and had been rudely awoken by the noise.  A few feet from you, Fishsis too looks startled and scared.

Your eyes wander around the hovercraft interior and zero in on the open hatch.  So that was what that bang was.  

You must have arrived in Lotam.

“Welcome to Lotam, highbloods.  I hope my service was to your satisfaction.  As we have reached the destination, our journey ends here.  Good evening,” drones the yellowblood helmsman.  

You ignore him, because there are much more pressing matters right now.  

Like the fact five subjugglators are climbing into hovercraft right now.

You never got on too well with your fellow purplebloods before, the power dynamics between all of you causing way too much mirthless drama than was necessary, but now you want nothing more than to rip the smirks off their faces for some reason.  Your lips automatically pull into a snarl.  

“Eeeeeheeeeeeeee!  MAkaRA!” screeches a familiar female voice, and you want to pull out your hair at the way she MOTHERFUCKING STRESSES THE WRONG SYLLABLES OF YOUR NAME.  “Ooh, messiahs, what the fuck fucked up your already-fucked-up-face?  And what the fuck are you doin’ in a freakin’ four-wheel device?  Don’t tell me you got yourself crippled, motherfucker.”

“What the motherfuck is the bastard sister doing so many miles from the Capitol?” you ask her, trying your best to maintain your composure.  Her use of the word “crippled” makes you grind your teeth, because of what it means for Tavros.  

The subjugglator’s name is Chahut Maenad, and out of your cohort of young Capitol subjugglators, she was perhaps the most ruthless and psychotic, other than of course you. She hates your guts, because in her eyes, your prime subjugglating skills steal her thunder.  She has a tendency to stress the wrong syllables of words for some motherfucking reason.

“Coming to get YOURRRRR ugly ass, is what we’re here for,” she screeches, and messiahs her voice is just the worst.  “Aren’t ya gonna say HELLo, to all of us friendly motherfuckers who came here to see you, bad BOY?”  She flutters her eyelashes in a bastardization of the very act, and licks one of her own horns, which spiral downward around her face.  You gag in disgust.  Then she gestures behind her and you spot the silent Soleil twins.  Why are they here too?  You don’t recognize the other two subjugglators, though.

“I’ll say hello to your purple motherfucking ass WHEN THE VAST HONK WIPES THE LIGHT FROM YOUR EYES,” you say.  “Who the motherfuck are those two?”  You point at the two subjugglators you don’t recognize.  

“Ah, they’re prison guards, they're here for the shitblood who’s bein’ transported home,” Chahut says flippantly.  “Don’t mind ‘em.  Where is that little motherfucker, anyway?”  As if on cue, the two subjugglators step forward.  

You jump up off of the four-wheel device to stop them, and when she sees you do so Chahut screeches, “SO he can WALK after all, WAAAAALK!”  To your surprise, however, the two subjugglator guards stalk towards Feferi instead.

They make to grab her, and she yelps and ducks away from them.  

“Don't motherfucking move, bitch--” one of them starts to yell.  

“Do not touch me!” she yells, and despite the sweet disposition Feferi carries most of time, the danger in her tone at the moment is evident.  

“Now wait for a bitchin’ sec--” the other subjugglator says.  “Holy shit, stop!” he yells at his partner.  “This ain't the shitblood, this is the fuchsia!”

You realize that, because of the dim lighting in the hovercraft, they must have mistaken Fishsis’s dark pink flush for rust.  

“Wait, what?”  The guard takes a closer look at Feferi’s face.  “Oh fucker, you're right!  We deeply apologize, your highness! They never told us what the shitblood was supposed to fuckin’ look like.”

“Wait, now, do you mean to say that THAT’S the shitblood?” Chahut cries, her attention now diverted towards Tavros.  “What the fuck is IT doin’ lying on the BED like some roYAL sea SLUG?  The only fucking place for shitbloods is on the motherfuckin’ GROUND or under IT!”

Tavros is shaking like a leaf, staring at the purplebloods with shimmering orange eyes.  He’s trying his best to sit up on the cot, but because of his uncooperative legs, the best he can do is rest on his elbows. The way he trembles with such tangible fear reminds of you of the first time you saw him back in the army camp, when Vriska was interrogating him.  That all seems so far away now.  

The two guards turn towards him, and before they’ve even taken the first step, you’re lunging towards them with your claws outstretched.  Just the fact that they DARED LAY EYES ON YOUR MIRACLE MAKES YOU SEE RAINBOWS. They turn in surprise at you, and you just manage to graze one of their cheeks, tearing flesh and causing a small trickle of purple blood to leak out, when suddenly, your arms are grabbed forcefully and forced behind you, immobilizing you.  You had forgotten about the presence of the Soleil twins because of their silence; together, they were more than capable of holding you in place.  You curse the monster strength that purplebloods seem to be hatched with.  You yourself possess that strength, and you’re sure that you could take any one of the twins one-on-one any day, but together they are a formidable force.  You gnash your teeth at them, snarling, but they just stare dead ahead without acknowledging you.  

“I DON’T MOTHERFUCKING CARE IF IT’S ROYAL JELLY UP IN THE VASCULAR RIVERS OF YOUR MUTANT BODIES, I will sew you two together and hang you by the legs and watch my own motherfucking shade bleed on the cursed ground upon which we stand.  You motherfucking BLASPHEMERS dare get your filthy scum of a TOUCH on the messiahs’ sacred flesh--” you yell at them--

“Gamzee, please calm, down,” Tavros says in a soft yell, still looking out for you despite the gravity of the situation. The volume of his voice shouldn’t have been enough to attract attention, but yet all the subjugglators seem to fall silent when he dares to speak.  

Tavros seems to realize his mistake, and his eyes widen as he shrinks upon himself, but he keeps his gaze firmly upon you, as if afraid to look anywhere else.  

You want to call out to him, hug him, reassure him, keep him safe, but the Soleils aren’t budging and the most you can do for Tavros is gaze back and try to look as brave as you don’t feel.

“What did you call him?” Chahut yells at him.

“DON’T MOTHERFUCKING TOUCH HIM!” you scream.  

“What THE fuck is wrong with you?” Chahut says, turning to you.  “It’s just a fucking brownblood, for fuck’s SAKE.  Not eVEN motherfucking jade or somethin’.  Wait.  Unless…”  She chuckles.  “Don’t tell ME your...pailin’ this piece of shit?”

Your mind goes blank when she asks this, and whatever expression you’re showing in your eyes, she interprets as meaning that YES, you have.  “MoTHERfuck, MAkaRA, you ARE!” she spits, getting all up in your face now.  “I’m not even disappointed in YOU, I fuckin’ knew all along that you weren’t worthy of the mighty purple color and the Grand Highblood’s name.  But I WILL not have you humiliating our caste any more.  We sent you to the motherfucking army thinkin’ it might teach ya how to sit and fetch like a good little BITCH that you’re supposed to be, and you manage to fuck that UP too.  Kicked out like a cheap pukeblood prostitute by a motherfuckin’ violet.  And that’s without getting those DAMN SHITBLOODS involved TOO!”

“If you keep calling him by THAT MUD-WORTHY NAME THEN YOU DON’T GOT YOUR UNDERSTAND ON for the messiahs’ miraculous scripture.  The messiahs may have blessed our bitchin’ shade of red and blue, but that doesn’t mean they ain’t testing us like schoolfeeding wigglers, sister,” you reply.  You tug even harder against the Soleil’s bonecrushing grasp.

“Stop fuckin’ struggling, you piece of nonsensical shit!” she screeches.

“Motherfuckin’ MAKE ME.”

She stares at you with unnerving eyes for all of five seconds. “Fine,” she smirks, and she pulls a pistol out of her holster, points it Tavros’s direction, and pulls the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK. YOU. SOLLUX.
> 
> I don't know why Sollux is so hard for me to write! It's so hard for me to relate to the way he thinks and feels and interacts with the world, so if I fucked up the Sollux passage, I'm sorry. So far, Gamzee is the easiest for me to write, Feferi is okay and Tavros is a kind of tedious but fine, but SOLLUX is like )(&%#@#%^*(!!!!!!! Also, I know ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about technology, so all that fancy techspeak was literally BULLSHIT. I basically found all the synonyms for "encryption" and "hack" and tried to make myself sound less like a dumbass than I do. 
> 
> Hey, guess what? Twelve trolls, twelve chapters, and as of this chapter, with the addition of Nepeta, we have completed all 12 POVs! (by the way, how was the little bit of Nepeta/Equius interaction in the beginning of this chapter?) Of course, some of them were brief, like Aradia's passage back in Chapter 2, but all the characters will get more time. }:o)
> 
> About the cliffhanger...well, if you manage to find me in person, I'll permit you to cull me for it. Deal? };o)
> 
> The link to the art for this chapter is here: https://yzydragon2222.deviantart.com/art/NoOoO-dOn-T-sToP-mOtHeRfUcKeR-718329603 At least I chose the fluffiest scene of the whole chapter, right? Plenty more not-as-fluffy scenes to come up in the future anyway...


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art for this chapter at: https://yzydragon2222.deviantart.com/art/ive-been-really-lonely-lately-too-719269716
> 
> There's some violence in this chapter (why are you surprised?) };o)

Chapter 13

→ BE GAMZEE MAKARA

BANG.

A scream rips from your throat, and your whole body is paralyzed with freezing numbness as you watch, as though in slow motion, Chahut lift the gun and shoot it in Tavros’s direction, and hear the loud pop of the bullet.  All the gears in your thinkpan come to a screeching halt, and for the first time in your life, you feel nothing but fear.  You don't even have room left for anger and rage, which are emotions that fill you as easily and regularly as a river does the ocean.  You hear the familiar sound of blood spattering the walls, but it is not pleasant to you as it used to be in the past.  It sickens you so completely that you don't understand how you could have ever liked spattering blood on walls.  Your fear is so gripping that all thoughts escape you, and you can't register what is before your eyes, you DON’T WANT TO--

Lest it be Tavros’s mangled body, it's warm orange-brown, it's beautiful voice, it's kindness and pity, and its miraculous spirit, leeched from it forever, leaving nothing but an empty shell of a troll by your side--

But then you see big bull horns moving, and bronze-tinted elbows still propped up on the cot.  Sparkling orange eyes, blown exponentially wide with terror, find yours once again, and once you are able to tear your eyes from his, you see that the wall behind Tavros is not spattered with bronze blood.

There is a soft scream of horror, and you see Fishsis staring with hands covering her mouth at the corpse of the yellowblood helmsman.  He sits dead behind Tavros, cords and wires still hideously attached to his skin.  As a slave, his personality had been drained from him long before he died, and his wide-open eyes are as impassive as they were during the few hours you knew him in life.  A single circular hole gleams upon his forehead amid a spatter of golden life juices.

In a corner of your thinkpan, you wonder what the goldblood’s personality was like, before obedience and impassiveness was forced into him.

“Oooooooooooooooh, I scared YA, didn’t I?” Chahut cackles, finally breaking you from your shock.  “OF course I did, that was my intention all along!  Look at your fuckin’ ugly FACE!  All scared for a shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitBLOOD!  Hehe!”  She looks at the helmsman’s remains.  “Not that piss is much better, eh?”

You can’t even answer her.  You were scared so badly that you don’t even have energy to get angry at her or attempt to lash out.  Not that you can, because your arms are still being held painfully behind your back by Barzum and Baizli.  Nor would you dare, because Chahut is still swinging the pistol around in her hand like some harmless slingshot, and you don’t want to have to suffer through another one of its BANGS, and another scare that Tavros w-was--

The twins seem to sense your moment of weakness, and somehow, without letting go of their bone-crushing hold on you, they slip a pair of handcuffs onto your wrists, before resuming to hold you tightly by the upper arm.  You hate the way they work, all silent and sneaky-like.

“P-please,” you tell Chahut, even though your eyes remain fixated upon Tavros.  You’re afraid of what might happen, the moment you look away.  You don’t know what you’re pleading for.  Perhaps, simply for this nightmare to stop.

Chahut’s head swivels around to look at you, shock overriding the expression of amusement, glee, and craze on her face from a few moments earlier.  She’s probably never imagined she’d manage to get you in a position of begging.

Then she flips her hair in your face and strides over to Tavros, whose shaking elbows give way.  He collapses back onto the cot, but doesn’t dare make another sound.  He holds his arms rigidly at his sides as Chahut peers down at him.

“Don’t hurt him!” someone yells.  Surprisingly, it’s not you, and you look at the fuchsia-flushed Fishsis. You feel a surge of affection towards her.  “Back away, I--order you!” There is a slight tremor in her voice, but she sounds like she is trying to sound commanding and imperious.  “What is the meaning of all this chaos?  I did not come here to bear witness to your savagery.  You’ve dealt enough violence and d-death today.”  Her voice cracks and the unmistakable sadness in her eyes is plain as they dart toward the dead yellowblood.

Chahut actually seems to hesitate, a grimace overcoming her painted face, but from behind you the Soleil twins speak for the first time.

“Ampora did say there was something wrong with this fuchsia,” one says, and you can’t tell which is which--fuck, you don’t even know for sure if they’re female or male.  

“Sympathizing with lowbloods.”

“Wrong indeed.”

“Mental faculties--”

“Incapacitated.”

“‘Twill not be a major infraction--”

“--if we dismiss her orders.”

Chahut chuckles when she hears them.  You never cared much, but you know from your experience among other subjugglators that most purplebloods quite despise violets and fuchsias, who think they are so much better than the MESSIAHS’ BLESSED PURPLE CASTE just because they have fins and gills.  Chahut’s not about to pass the opportunity to snub a fuchsiablood in her face while she has a good excuse to do so.

“Sorry, your highNESS, but it looks like you are fuckin’ overruled, five purples against one retarded seadwelling biiiiitch.”

“W-what?  You can’t do this!  I’ll--report you!” Fishsis cries, obviously desperate.

“Then we’ll just have to put in GOOD word that little MISS fuchSIA had a bug in her thinkpan, traumatized as she was from the vicious horrors of war.  The shitbloods fucked her so bad, she started thinkin’ she should be moirallegiant to them!” Chahut dismisses, and ignoring Feferi’s continued protests, she turns back to Tavros.

You jolt as though electrocuted when Chahut brings up a hand and caresses Tavros’s horn.  What’s with motherfuckers soiling his big beautiful horns WITH THEIR MOTHERFUCKING GERMS?  You can’t see his face from where you’re standing, since he’s lying all the way down now, but you can tell that he’s looking up at Chahut with fear and a shiver runs through his body as she touches his horn.  You wish you could clear his line of vision of THE MOTHERFUCKING SINFUL SISTER OF YOUR OWN SHADE.

“Well HELLo there, pretty boy,” she purrs.  “What’s YOUR fuckin’ name?”

You realize that Tavros’s voice is much squeakier when he is afraid.  You haven’t heard him sound like that...in a really motherfucking long time, it seems.  “M-m-m-my name is T-t-t-tavros Nitr-tr-tram,” he stutters, and as always, he is brave enough to answer when spoken to, even if his voice might be on the verge of causing an earthquake with all its trembling.  You’ve seen victims in his position too scared to even utter an eep.

“Really?” she coos.  “Wrong answer.”

She slaps him across the face.  Hard.  

He doesn’t make a sound.

“You MOTHERFUCKING ASKED HIM A QUESTION and he up and gave you the truthful answer, BITCH!” you scream.  “If a response full of motherfucking honesty don’t satisfy your twisted needs, DON’T MOTHERFUCKING ASK AN HONEST BROTHER ANY MOTHERFUCKINGING INQUIRY.”

“Maybe the honest answer wasn’t the fuckin’ correct one,” she snaps at you.  She turns back to Tavros.  “That was the wrong answer, because garbage like you doesn’t have any name.  From now on you’re just…”  She glances questioningly at the two guard subjugglators.

“Inmate number 82,” one of them supplies.

“You got that, you piece of shit?  You’re just a motherfucking number now, because every shitblood that crawls on Alternia is one too many.”

“Hey now, DON’T TAKE AWAY A BROTHER’S MIRACULOUS MONIKER WHEN THE BEST REPLACEMENT YOU CAN COME UP WITH IS A MOTHERFUCKING DIGIT!” you protest.  These motherfuckers can’t make Tavros just a number, he’s more than that, he’s more than just a lowblood, more than just a troll, he’s special in the kind of way you’ve never seen before and they can’t soil the miracle by taking away its identity--

Chahut slaps Tavros again, who somehow still remains silent, and you again jolt as though shot by electricity.  Every time she so much as looks at him causes you physical pain.

“You don’t like that, do you, MAkaRA?” she hisses.  “Well, every time words come off of your wretched little tongue, THIS--” and for a third time she slaps Tavros-- “is what your little lover is gonna get!”

You bite your tongue and you taste blood.

“All right, eighty-TWO, and why the FUCK are you still lying on the cot like a spineless basTARD?” she barks.  “Get up, GET uuuuup!”

“Maenad--” you start, and when she lifts her hand to hit Tavros again, you yell, “DON’T MOTHERFUCKING LAY YOUR FILTHY BRUISEBLOOD HAND ON HIM AGAIN, I actually got something MOTHERFUCKING WORTH YOUR BLEEDIN’ HEAR-DUCTS’ TIME TO SAY!”  She looks at you skeptically.  “Ain’t no point asking a brother to get up.  He’ll try motherfucking hard for you because he’s a good brother, but the messiahs took the miracle of moving his own motherfucking lower limbs from him because there were too many other miracles squeezed inside that tiny body, maybe up and walking was just one miracle too many for a bitchtits mortal.”

“You sayin’ he can’t fuckin’ walk, in that idiotic roundabout-speak of yours?  So you carry this shitblood’s limpdick carcass?”  Without warning, she spins around and directs at Tavros, “How does it fucking feel, you PIECE of shit, having to rely on trolls with much betTER blood than you?  Are you ashamed?  Are you fucking ashamed!”  

“What’re you asking him about motherfucking shame for?” you seethe.  “Some motherfuckers are short or tall and some motherfuckers have big horns or little horns and some motherfuckers are bitches and some motherfuckers don’t have fucking legs.  At least he ain’t an unmiraculous sacrilegious BITCH with a mouth-hole full of SHIT, MAENAD--”

She slaps Tavros so hard that this time he actually does cry out, and unwittingly, you cry out too.  “You were askin’ FOR it, MAkaRA!” she snarls.

“PLEASE!” Feferi suddenly cries out, tears flowing freely down her face.  You had completely forgotten about her presence.  She’s looking at Tavros with heartbreak on her face, and you realize that she is fond of him too.  “Please, can’t you pick on someone your own size?  Just stop, if only for the sake of your own pride and dignity!”

Chahut looks like she wants to ignore Feferi, but after a moment she straightens and says, “Trueeeee, ‘cause this shitblood is just way TOO pathetic.  You’ve really, realLYYYYY outdone yourself this time, MAkaRA.  All right you guys,” she gestures to the two guards, “take him away.”

The two guards step forward, and Feferi tries grabbing them, shouting, “No!  Don't--how about this: I can carry him, I’m a medic and I’m professionally informed on how to do this!  Or at least let him use the four-wheel device--”  

But they push her out of the way.  Roughly, each of them grabs Tavros by an arm and quite literally drag him off the bed.  You can see your poor miracle biting his lip to keep from crying out, but the tears in his eyes are shimmering.  They hold him up at standing height, but his legs flop and drag on the floor.  His head is bowed and he shivers in pain at having his entire body weight supported by his upper arms.

You struggle harder than ever against the Soleils’ grasp.  Words clog your throat but you manage to choke out, “Tavbro, this motherfucker is so motherfucking full of apologies towards your miracle self, but hold that orange elixir in your eyes, my clown self is gonna BREAK OUT AND KILL THESE UNMIRACULOUS BITCHES--”

Chahut nonchalantly points the pistol in Tavros’s direction again, but this time it is close enough that you can tell her bullet would definitely spill brown blood.  You bite your tongue again.

“At least put him in the motherfucking four-wheel device,” you plead as a last resort.  Seeing them drag him around feels like putting your bloodpusher in the gogdamn freezer and shattering it into a million pieces with a motherfucking hammer, then setting the shards on fire.

Chahut ignores your plea.  “A motherfuckin’ cripPLE.  What a waste of our fine highblood time.  Of course Makara would mack on a little shit just as defective as HIMself,” she says.  “It’s your lucky day, eight-two; the violetblood captain, Ampora or whatever, specifically requested that you be put to trial, although in retroSPECT, that ain’t so fuckin’ lucky is it?  HEhee...but if I had my way I’d chop your useless pretty boy skull myself right here AND now.”

Your bloodpusher stops.  “What’s this yapping about a motherfucking trial?” you ask.

“Just what it is.  Your little lover’s goin’ to the fuckin’ Capitol court.  Better hope he’s not as fuckin’ useless when the Empress sees him.”

“Motherfuckin’ court?” you repeat dumbly.  “WHEN?  WHY?”

“None of your fuckin’ concern, MAkaRA, but I’ll be kind and say that it’s in a few days or SO, or maybe a few more or a few less.  Eeheehee...and as for why, I don’t fuckin’ know, he must have pissed the shit out of Ampora if he made a specific request for a GODdamn cripple.”

You knew that Feferi’s ex-moirail was a grudge-holding little piece of shit, and in retrospect, it’s obvious that he felt personally offended by Tavros, a worthless lowblood in his eyes, for communing with his lusus.  Still, the fact that he requested for your little miracle to have to GO THROUGH A TRIAL IS MORE THAN YOU CAN MOTHERFUCKING BEAR. Judging by the strangled noise Fishsis makes, her line of thinking is the same as yours at the moment.

Chahut strides over to where Tavros is still being forcibly held upright and touches his horn again.  “All right, baby boy,” she sings in a voice like artificial sugar, “time to say GOODbye to your master.  You're never gonna see him again.”

Tavros slowly lifts his head as though it is too heavy, and he locks eyes with you.  His left cheek is swollen with heated bronze where Chahut repeatedly hit him.  Time slows down and suddenly it feels like you and he are the only ones left in Alternia.  In the whole universe.

“Goodbye, Gamzee,” he whispers, and you can tell he really means it, really believes this is the last time he'll ever see you again.  Genuinity bleeds from his voice, and you feel his psychic powers curl around your thinkpan, incredibly warm and tight and desperate and so incredibly SAD, you didn't know sadness like this existed in the world.   It makes you let out a choked sob.  It feels like he doesn't ever want to ever sever the connection between your minds, between your souls.  Neither do you.  “Thank you for, e-everything. Please stay safe.   And I’m sorry, I just.”  He swallows thickly.  “I just wanted to say, before I, uh go, that, I love--”

“Did I say you could blabBER, dirt?” Chahut interrupts, destroying the moment.  “I told you to say goodbye to him.  That's how many words?  Oh, I think it's...ONE!  I think YOU said a few many mooooore than that.  Am I right?”

“Uh, y-yes,” Tavros stammers, looking at her with bleary eyes.

“You don't have my PERmission to say nothin’ else, shitblood.  I should cut your your tongue FROM your pretty little mouth for doin’ that.  Did you disobey me on purPOSE, you ungrateful worm?”

“N-n-no--”

“Don't fuckin’ lie,” she cuts him off, and she raises her hand and hits him again.  

The impact is so hard this time that your little miracle’s head swings to the side.  Several things happen.

First, you feel Tavros’s psychic connection with you abruptly cut off, leaving you in something of a psychological whiplash.

Then, because of the impact of Chahut’s blow that swung Tavros’s head to the side, the sharp end of Tavros’s massive horn knocks into and impales one of the guards holding him.  The man yelps and clutches his side, purple blood streaming from his side as he sinks to his knees and lets go of Tavros.

Tavros, without the support of the guard and his paralyzed legs unable to catch him, crumples to the floor.  Feferi runs forward to help him up.  There is purple blood decorating Tavros’s horn.  YOU DON’T HOW TO FEEL ABOUT THE MIRACULOUS SIGHT OF YOUR LITTLE MIRACLE WEARING YOUR OWN MOTHERFUCKING SHADE.

Then he looks at the fallen guard with terrified eyes, and you can tell just by looking at him that while he is terrified for himself, he is even more terrified FOR the guard, fearful that his horns may have fatally wounded a man, even if said man is a subjugglator who treated him worse than shit.  It makes you infuriatingly exasperated at him for his undying compassion even when he should clearly be worrying about himself, but this is also the defining trait about Tavros that makes you MOTHERFUCKING PITY HIM--

And then you hear Chahut yelling something and tightening her grip on her pistol, and on Tavros’s face you see that she had hit him so many times that the skin of his cheek had split open, leaving a trickle of bronze blood, and you--

And you can’t handle it anymore.  

You’re barely able to control yourself--the chucklevoodoos explode from your thinkpan, wailing incoherently loudly all over the room.  Your control over them is so blasted that even Feferi--who is not your enemy here--drops in pain and shock.  Still, you can’t find yourself to care about her at the moment.  But even still, your promise to Tavros--and to yourself--never to hurt him with your chucklevoodoos again, gives you the strength to keep their mindwarping effects from touching him.  

You can feel the other subjugglators trying to push back against your psychic mindwaves with their own chucklevoodoos, but you are stronger than all of them.  Still, as purplebloods, their resistance against similarly purpleblood powers are stronger than that of other castes, and they are not completely incapacitated or rolling and moaning on the floor in incoherent agony like Feferi currently is.  However, Chahut does drop her pistol onto the floor, which accidentally discharges with a frightening BANG upon impact, and the subjugglator who was impaled by Tavros’s horn doesn’t have time to move away and is shot through the stomach.  You’re pretty sure he dies soon thereafter but you honestly don’t give a fuck about him.  The Soleil twins slacken their grip on your arms, and with a feral roar you break from their hold.  You run forward and fall to your knees in front of Tavros, and you want nothing more than to sit him up and hold him in your arms but it is at that moment that you are cruelly reminded of the metal cuffs that secure your wrists, restraining you from touching him.  

“Tavros, Tavros, Tavros…” you repeat like prayer, and you lean your face down so that you can be closer to him.  You see bronze tears spilling from his eyes anew, and he reaches his hand up as though to touch your face.

“Gamzee…”

“Fuckin’--oh gog, stop him, STOP HIM!” someone is shouting.

Suddenly you feel something piercing your neck, and almost immediately the world starts to slow down and dim, churning in swirls of blurred images around you.  Your muscles seize up and with intense difficulty, you turn your head to see that one of the Soleil twins managed to inject a syringe into your jugular vein.  The syringe is full of something green, and you realize that they just injected sopor slime directly into your bloodstream, and with a dose like this who knows how long you could be out cold--

The floor is rushing up to meet you, and black is consuming your vision, but with the last remnants of your consciousness you hold on to the sight of Tavros, who is still trying to reach out to you, fingers mere centimeters from caressing your face, soundless words on his lips, before someone grabs him.  

The last thing you see is your little miracle being dragged away from you.  

“...I love…”

→ BE TAVROS NITRAM

One of the subjugglator guards is dead, bleeding the blood of Gamzee’s color all over the hovercraft ground, and Feferi is feebly stirring on the floor.  The subjugglator twins (or at least, that’s what you think they are) are bending over her and gingerly picking her up, and the other one of the subjugglator guards is shouting something at them, and beneath them Gamzee is lying on the floor, dead to the world.  What did they do to him?  You desperately reach out with your mind and you are able to feel his, so he’s alive--but he’s deep in the throes of sleep, buried under so many layers of dreams that even as you shout and holler into his thinkpan with your communing abilities, he doesn’t so much as acknowledge you.  

“Shut THE fuck up!” screams the person who is dragging you backward by the scruff of the neck.  It’s the mean clown lady.  You realize that you must have been screaming Gamzee’s name out loud as well.  She drags you away from the scene, through the the hovercraft door and down the narrow flight of stairs, and you are no longer able to see Gamzee.  The way she’s pulling your body across the floor hurts like hell, and your neck is aflame from where her claws dig into your skin, but nothing hurts as much as the separation between yourself and your purpleblood friend.  Your useless legs trail in front of you as they are dragged across the floor, and you wince at the way they are caught and banged on the hovercraft steps, but you feel nothing, anyway.  You wish you could feel your legs, if only to feel the pain of the bruises they are sure to develop, to distract you from the pain in your bloodpusher.

“Makara always FUCKS SHIT UP wherever he wipes his dirty clownin’ feet,” the lady subjugglator seethes.  You don’t answer her.  

Since she’s dragging you backward, you can’t tell where you’re going.  She pulls you across rough, sandy ground, but it is colored with a mixture of dark red, brown, and green stains.  Blood, you realize, and you feel like vomiting.  

“I’m fucking talking to you!” she screeches, and you look up at her in shock.  You are getting some seriously mixed signals here, does she want you to talk or not to talk?  But you conclude that she only wants you to suffer, regardless of whatever words may or may not spill from your lips.  

“Fuck, no matter, a shitblood should be too stupid to CONverse with me, anyway,” she answers herself.  “Heh, at least we have a way of gettin’ under Makara’s saggy skin now, don’t we?  We could never find jack shit to use as leverage over his dopey ass, but I guess we just weren’t looking SHITTY enough, if he stooped low enough to fuck you, wouldn’t you say, poopblood?  Damn, I fuckin’ wish I could kill you, feel the way your dirty blood turns cold ALL over my hands, under my fuckin’ nails.  But I guess it will be worth the fuckin’ wait to see you get what your kind fuckin’ deserves back in the motherfuckin’ city.”  She stops for a second to lean down into your ear.  “Don’t think for a single tick-tock of the fuckin’ clock that you’re special, you piece of shit.  All of you lowbloods are the same brand of ungrateful and stupid who deserve every piece of pain you get, no matter what Makara may have told you while he came in your deformed cripple nook.”

For some reason, these last words are the ones that hurt you the most, and your tears sting your eyes like sand.  You cling desperately to words you remember Gamzee telling you once upon a time... “...you're a motherfucking miracle, Tavbro. There ain't no motherfucker like you.”

You don’t know if you believe those words, but you believe in Gamzee.  

Soon, you register yourself being dragged through a set of heavy metal doors.  You see several armed subjugglator guards looking down at you, and then you realize that whatever room you’re in right now is filled with many other people.  And when you get a good look at them, your bloodpusher catches in your throat.  

They’re Low Side soldiers.  

All of them are still in their tattered Low Side uniforms, and the sight of it hits you with a strongly bittersweet bout of nostalgia.  All of them look wasted and miserable, and their hands are chained behind their backs.  They are standing in a long line, at the head of which is another subjugglator who cackles and yells, “NEXT!” at which the next lowblood prisoner in line steps forward on shaky legs.  There is a door behind the subjugglator up front, and he interrogates the lowblood with questions that you can’t hear.  After a minute or so, he waves his hand and guards escort (shove) the lowblood through the door.  

“NEXT!” he calls again.

The same process repeats, but this time, after the minute of interrogation, the subjugglator nonchalantly picks up a sword and DECAPITATES the lowblood, spattering himself and everyone nearby with olive-colored blood that helplessly reminds you of Nepeta.  The subjugglator picks up the fallen head and swings it around by its--her, it was a female--hair.  The other subjugglators in the room cheer and applaud.  

“This one was a dud!” he cackles, and then he TOSSES THE HEAD ACROSS THE ROOM LIKE A BALL, and a few other subjugglators squabble and shove at each other to catch it, as if this were a game.  

It probably is, to them.

“NEXT!”

The other Low Side soldiers weren’t really paying attention to you or the mean clown lady before, but as she continues to drag you past all of them, bypassing the queue altogether, you can feel the dozens of eyes upon you.  

“What’s up, Cha-babe?” the subjugglator up front asks the clown lady when the two of you reach him.  

“Go suck a bulge,” she replies good-naturedly.

“Come now, girlie, I was just trying to be nice!  Now, what’s this?”  He eyes you.  “Another defect?”  For a moment, you can’t breathe.  Are you about to die, head chopped off and flung around like a toy?

“Heh, as hard as it is to BElieve, this fucker’s a special little pretty boy.  Aren’t you?  Tell him how you fucked Makara.”

You can hear the male subjugglator’s eyes popping out of his head.  “NOOOooo, get outta town!”

“I WOULD get the fuck out if I hadn’t seen that thirsty look in Makara’s eyes.”

“Shiiiiiiiiiit!”

“Yeah, I know.  But still, the Capitol’s waitin’ for this one’s trial.  The new violetblood captain of Division 420 speciFICally requested one for him.  Gog, all this attention for a little dirtblood.  He must have a talented mouth.”

“Or maybe a nice nook.”

“Doubt it.  He probably can’t keep his fuckin’ legs open.  Show him your legs, you piece of shit,” she tells you.  

You don’t really know what she expects you to do, as you can barely move from the position you are currently being held.  

“Um, I-I, can’t, because t-t-they, can’t m-move.”  You hate the way they are exposing you like this, forcing you to display the part of your body you feel the most vulnerable about.

“What exactly is fuckin’ wrong with you?” she asks.

“I-I-I, uh, I’m p-paral-l-lyzed.”  

“Ohohohohoho!” laughs the male subjugglator.  “A cripple!  I almost WANT to see how he fucks, if only for sheer entertainment value.  Why’d they even keep him alive?”

“Hell if I know,” the clown lady replies.

You want to drown in your humiliation.  You try to remember Gamzee’s words again: “These legs are motherfucking miraculous because they belong to this miraculous motherfucker...and now they make you so motherfucking pitiable--”

But his voice sounds so far away.

The clown lady and the other subjugglator continue to banter for a few minutes and you tune them out.  Then the clown lady bids him goodbye and drags you through the door.  

You enter what looks like a shower room. The floor is wet and grimy.   She dumps you on the floor under a shower head, and says, “Strip.  You have two fuckin’ minutes to wash up.  Not that it will make much of a difference, shitblood.”

You gasp when the shower head is abruptly turned on--you are still in your clothes--no, these are Gamzee’s clothes--and the water is freezing cold, sending shockwaves of chills to your very bones.  You quickly remove the now sopping wet shirt from your body, before gingerly cleaning your tender bleeding cheek with numb fingers.  You watch with morbid fascination and horror as the purple blood staining your horn turns to a pale lavender before going down the drain with the rest of the shower water.  You never wanted that subjugglator to die, even if he was cruel.  Was his death your fault?

Before you know it, the water is turned off, leaving Gamzee’s sopping wet polka-dotted pants still hanging off your legs, but it’s not like you would have been able to take them off by yourself in two minutes under a freezing shower, anyway.  You remember the way Gamzee had delicately dressed and undressed you and helped you bathe for the past few weeks.

Then you are being dragged into another room, where a suspiciously filthy towel is tossed at you, along with a striped prison shirt.  You dry your upper body as best you can and put on the the striped shirt, and the cloth is thin and itchy and scratchy and not nearly thick enough to keep your now-gooseflesh ridden body warm.  You wonder if you should take the sopping wet pants off, but you don’t have time to contemplate before the lady is dragging you to yet another room.  

“Those are MAkaRA’s stupid pants, aren’t they?  Keep them on, so everyone knows you’re a fuckin’ whore.  We shouldn’t be wasting any of our pants on something as dirty as you are, anyway.  Besides, I’d imagine you’d take too fuckin’ long to change, cripple.”  

You are actually glad that she’s letting you keep on Gamzee’s pants, because even though she’s doing it to humiliate you, the purple article of clothing is a memento of your highblood friend that you can keep close.

The floor of the subsequent room is carpeted with black locks of hair.  “This is where we’d normally chop off your fuckin’ hair,” the clown lady explains to you, “but the Capitol wants the fuckers goin’ to trial to be as recognizable as possible.  In the beginning, anyway.”  You don’t want to think about what “in the beginning” may imply, but you are oddly relieved that your hair gets to stay.  Your mohawk was a haircut you’d always wanted as a wiggler, but you hadn’t been able to get it done until after the revolution, when you had joined the Low Side.  Aradia and Nepeta were the ones who helped you cut it, that very first time.  You are overly sentimental of your hair, and you doubt you’d live long enough for your hair to grow back out (and much less have it styled to your preference) if it were shaved off now.

You think about the way Gamzee ran his fingers through your hair.

There is an enormous saw in the next room, and it is covered in so much blood that you can’t tell its original color anymore.  The same goes for the floor.  A lot of the blood is dry and flaking, but a lot of it also looks fresh.  You gulp at the sight, and the clown lady snorts when she sees your face.  “Same goes for this one.  This is where we’d chop your horns off.”  That’s when you finally notice the pile of orange horns of various shapes and sizes in a corner of a room.  All the blood leaves your face.  “But again, you need to be recognizable for your trial, and I’ll say your horns are your most recognizable trait, once you get past your ugly fuckin’ face.”  

As she drags you out of the room, you can almost hear the echoes of screams of the many trolls whose horns were sheared off within these walls.  You think of the many prisoners still waiting in line outside, and the agony that awaits them.

There is a branding iron in the next room.  You know immediately what it must be for, even though your stomach folds in on itself in fear.  The clown lady dumps you on the floor and grabs your arm, and you have little time to prepare before the number 82 is seared into your flesh. scarring your skin forever, marking you from now till the end of your days.

You hear sizzling of flesh and smell the burning of skin before you feel the--PAIN.

You scream.  She laughs.

\----------

When she drags you out of the branding room, you are met with a hot breeze.  She dumps you on the ground, and you land on your stomach, choking on a mouthful of dust and dirt.  

“Listen, you piece of shit, I’m far from done WITH you,” she growls, “but I gotta go see if Makara hasn’t drowned in his own fuckin’ stupidity yet.  The next shuttle to the Capitol is tomorROW, and that’s when we’ll be goin’.  But for tonight you’re sleepin’ with the rest of these fuckin’ worms.”

She shoves your face even deeper into the ground one last time, before stalking away.

When you are finally done spitting debris from your mouth, you struggle to lift your head and observe your surroundings.  You’re in what looks like a prison yard, except, instead of dingy gray buildings as you would expect of a prison, there are whimsical purple, polka-dotted, and striped circus-like tents.  You assume that it is within those tents that prisoners reside.  The color scheme and appearance makes the camp look like it should be a joyous place, but then again, subjugglators’ definition of happiness and mirth is very unique, and Gamzee did say that Lotam, as you recall this place being named, is run completely by purplebloods.  

In the end, everything reminds you of Gamzee again.

There are prisoners huddled together in small crowds in front of these tents, some talking amongst each other and some crying and some curled upon the ground in pain from their newly-removed horns, and some simply staring, emptily, into nothingness.  There are not many other trolls here with intact horns, and you can only guess that the ones with are the ones who are also scheduled to go to the Capitol.  Still, among the limited population within this prison camp with horns, yours are by far the largest, and while you are often self-conscious about your horns under normal circumstances, you are now self-conscious about them for an entirely different reason.

The depressing moroseness of the prisoners here scares you, and they look distant and unapproachable, but you remind yourself that these are your Low Side comrades, and all of you have suffered similarly.  You decide that you should go talk to them, but then you remember that you can’t walk and you have no four-wheel device and Gamzee isn’t here to carry you, either.  You bite your lip in sadness and frustration.  Looks like you have no choice but to crawl.  You really ARE like a worm, aren’t you?

Even the group of prisoners closest to you seems so far away as you place one elbow after another on the rough ground, dragging yourself on your stomach.  You take care not to touch the tender burn on your forearm, but dust and dirt falls on it at times anyway and you have to throw your head back and bite your tongue so as not to scream.  You can feel heads turning towards you, but no one steps forward or calls out to you, or does anything to actively acknowledge you other than stare at you.  Even amongst lowbloods, you are the sore thumb, the freak.

You have almost reached the first group of prisoners when they glance shiftily at you, mutter something amongst themselves, and shuffle away.  “W-wait!” you cry out, panting from the exertion of your belly-crawling, the skin of your arms torn and raw.  None of them look back, and you are left alone and in bewilderment on the ground.  What did you do wrong?

You sigh with defeat and overwhelming sadness.  You are still on your stomach propped up by your elbows and you are exhausted, and you want to lie down on the ground, but you don’t fancy being face down eating dirt again, since your horns make it impossible for you lie on the side of your head.  But you are also too tired to turn yourself onto your back, and now your elbows are starting to hurt--

“Hey, buddy...are you okay?”

You look up and see that another lowblood troll had approached you when you weren’t paying attention.  He has kind eyes and a hesitant, watery smile, and like you, he still has hair (which is slightly floppy) and horns (wide at the base that curve inwards at their tips).  He is close enough that you can tell that his eyes are burgundy.  He's probably three or four sweeps older than you.  

“I saw you dragging yourself across the ground back there.  Are your legs broken?”

He has a slightly hesitant and halting voice, which reminds you of your own.

“Oh, um.  Broken, is not something that my legs, are,” you say, giving him an ironic smile.  “It's just, they, don't actually work, like at all, so walking is not something, I am able to do, but I, uh, wanted to come talk to someone, so I crawled.”

“Oh.  I'm sorry about your legs, buddy.  Is it...recent?”

“A couple of, weeks.”

“You must be strong, then,” he says, and you are surprised that anyone would think so.  “Do you need help?”  He somehow manages not to sound patronizing, although you wouldn't really care if he did, at this point.  

“Could you, maybe, help me, turn over onto my back?”

You are grateful for his help, but you can't help but compare the way he handles you to Gamzee, and it makes you sorely miss the purpleblood even more.  The burgundyblood’s hands are sweaty and awkward, and he's not very strong, so he struggles with your weight.  If you could still stand, he probably wouldn't be much taller than you.  You were embarrassed the first few times Gamzee helped you, but eventually you always felt so...right, in his wide hands and long arms.

When he’s done helping you turn over, you expect the rustblood to leave, but instead he sits down next to you.  “I'll talk to you,” he smiles.  “I've been really lonely lately, too.  I'm Xefros, by the way.”

You are so happy that he would tell you his name, for some reason.  Perhaps you are still privately upset over what happened with the yellowblood helmsman back in the hovercraft.  “I'm, Tavros.”

“We both have, like, a ‘ros’, in our names!  That's definitely a coincidence, but it's cool; we rhyme!” he says.  You decide you like this guy.

“Heh heh, yeah...if we had a beat, we could totally, uh, slam, about that.”

“Do you like slam poetry, too?  Oh boy!”

He tells you how he and his moirail both loved music.  It both warms and breaks your bloodpusher, seeing the way his eyes light up when he talks about his pale quadrant.  This guy was Xefros’s everything.  

“He was the rhythm and I was the rhyme,” he says.  “Music was what brought us together.  I’m pretty sure he hated me before that, because I’m not strong or cool like him at all.  But one day I was throwing down some rhymes by myself in the mealblock, because I totally thought I was like, alone, but then he kinda just crept up behind me and started beatboxing.”

“That’s, really sweet,” you say.  It sounds like the kind of romantic plot Karkat would secretly gush over.  “Where did you two, meet?”

“We had the same mistress,” Xefros says.  So they were both slaves.  Okay, so this part isn’t sweetly romantic anymore.  “Mistress was--I mean Trizzbitch--heh, that’s what my moirail always insisted we call her--very strict, about not letting her slaves do anything enjoyable, so my moirail and I never got to slam a lot.  But we would do it at any chance we got, when she wasn't looking.  And after the revolution, my moirail got to spend some real time together, and those were probably the happiest months of my life.  But then he got assigned to be the commander of a rookie platoon, because he’s awesome, and I’m not very awesome, unlike him so I became a common foot soldier in another division.  But we’ve pestered, almost every day.  I haven’t seen him since, though.  It’s been about two sweeps.”  A dark look crosses over Xefros’s face.  

Before you can comment on it, though, the dark look dissipates from Xefros’s face.  It’s like he’s forcing himself to be positive about the what is possibly the least positive situation ever.  

“So, who is that you’re missing?” he asks you, and you are a bit startled by the way the conversation suddenly turns you.

“Well, I’m missing my five, very good friends.  Aradia, Sollux, Nepeta, Kanaya, and, um, Karkat,” you say, and it somehow feels important to you that you say their names out loud.  Perhaps to remind yourself that they are real, and not just some figment of your imagination.  “We all met in the army, after, uh, the revolution, and even though our personalities, are all quite different, they are, everything, to me.  But they’re all, very strong, so I think, or at least it is my hope, that they will, stay okay.”

“Okay,” Xefros says, smiling.  “And who else?”

You flush a dark bronze.  “Uh, what makes you think, that there is, anyone else?”

He pats your shoulder comfortingly.  “I can see it in your eyes,” he says mysteriously.   

You look away from him, afraid of what other secrets he might glean from staring at your irises.  You don’t know what spurs you to tell him. Well, what is there to lose, really, at this point? “Well--okay, you’re right. There is--one other person.  His name is Gamzee.  We--I don’t know.  We didn’t know each other, for very long.  But it was--different, you know?  There was, uh...some kind of, connection…He tried to hurt me,” and Xefros’s eyebrows raise at this, “but only at first, and it was only because, he didn’t know how else to interact with people.  People are always, trying to hurt him.  Underneath all that, he was just another, lonely person, and I too, am a person that is, lonely, so we, uh, sort of just, uh, ‘got’ each other.  And he was the only person, who ever made me, feel, uh, like an equal, even though, we have different, blood colors, and he is strong, and he can walk, and I am pretty weak, and can’t walk, having legs, that are not actually, uh, functional, in any way.”

“Gamzee?” Xefros says with a thoughtful look.  “That sounds a little bit familiar.  Maybe I’ve met him?”

“Uh...I doubt it,” you say hurriedly.  

Xefros gives you a curious look at that but doesn’t press it.  “Is he a quadrantmate?”

“No!” you say quickly, and to your dismay, Xefros gives you a knowing smirk.  “No, really,” you insist.  “We never, you know, um, did anything.”

“If you’re talking about filling buckets,” Xefros says, and you are a bit shocked at how casually he speaks of said sexual appliance, “then you must know that that isn’t what REALLY matters in a relationship.  I mean, it’s nice to have sex, but it’s the feelings that are the most important thing.”

“I know, but…”  But intense feelings and emotions are entirely what comprises you and Gamzee’s relationship.  

“You were so quick to assume that I was talking about buckets.  So it’s the flushed quadrant, then?”

“I--I don’t know!” you exclaim.  “I don’t know how I, uh, feel about this.”

“How does he feel about it?”

“I, don’t know.”

“Hasn’t he ever said anything to you?”

“Well…”  Gamzee’s said a lot of things to you.  But they almost always sounded like they transcended quadrants altogether.  It was a connection of spirit, between the two of you.  “He calls me a, um, well, his miracle, and he also said, that I’m...pitiable.”

Xefros whistles lowly.  “What did you say?”

“Well, the truth.  That I think he is, uh...pitiable, too.”

“And you’re STILL not sure how you feel?”

Honestly, you just feel insecure about this right now, and you almost hug your knees to your chest, and it takes attempting to actually to do so to actually remind you that that’s something you can’t do anymore.  You wipe your hands on the polka-dotted pants, instead.  “It’s...complicated.  And I don’t think it really matters anymore, at this point, anyway…”

Xefros’s smile falls from his face, and you feel a little bad.  “I know,” he sighs.  “But sometimes I just want to pretend that nothing’s wrong.  Does Gamzee know where you are?”

“Yes,” you sigh.  “He tried to stop it, but there was nothing he could do.  And I’m sorry.  Upsetting you, was not something I, uh, intended to do.  And I think that it’s a good thing, to stay positive, since we’re going to die, anyway, instead of living our last moments, uh, moping around.”  

He looks at you.  “I’m not dying anytime soon,” he says.  “My platoon tried to ambush a High Side platoon.  It was a miserable failure,” he laughs bitterly.  “They killed almost everyone.  But they didn’t kill me, because somehow they recognized me as Mistress’s old slave, and she wants me back.  Mistress is a fuchsiablood, you see.”

That makes you swallow uncomfortably.  You think of Feferi and her kind yet excitable nature.  You really liked her.  Did she own any slaves?  

“Does your moirail know where you are?” is what you ask instead.  

“Probably not,” Xefros answers.  “He probably thinks I’m dead.  The last time I pestered him was before the ambush.  He said I better not have anything stupid happen to me.  Guess I failed his test, again.”  Xefros can’t help brushing a few rust-colored tears from his eyes.  “It’s funny, you know, because I never really worried about myself.  I was always more worried about him, because as a commander, he was always in a lot more danger than I was.  He almost died, a few weeks ago, you know?  There was a surprise attack on his platoon, and there was a purpleblood--an actual purpleblood!-on the High Side.  He says he fell unconscious and broke his arm, but some poor guy saved him.  He doesn’t know what happened to the poor fellow.  It was really eating him up inside.  He doesn’t show it, but he cares about every single one of his soldiers.  I tried to shoosh him over Pesterchum, but everyone knows that shit doesn’t really work.  Sometimes I feel like such a failure of a moirail.  I wasn’t there to protect him, and some guy probably died because of it.  And I can’t even effectively comfort him when something like that happens.”

You can’t help but feel like you’re missing something, but you don’t know what it is.  “Don’t feel that way,” you console Xefros.  “None of that was your fault.  It’s really, all this violence, and hatred, and warfare, that’s at fault, and, uh, the fact that you can still have such a strong, moirallegiance, besides all that, is really beautiful.  Besides, your moirail, must be a really great guy, if someone thought, he was worth saving.  That has to mean something...right?”

“Yeah,” Xefros says, looking down with a small blush.  “Thanks, Tavros.”

“You’re welcome.  I wish I had a moirail.”

“But you have a ‘matesprit’.”

“No, I don’t,” you insist again, and it’s your turn to blush.  You quickly change the subject.  “It sounds, um, really horrible, and scary, that you’re going back, to your old mistress.  I don’t have one, because the war started, before I turned eight, and could be conscripted.  But I’m going back, to the Capitol, for, uh, a trial.  So I will probably, die.”

“Tavros,” he breathes, looking distressed at your fate.  But then he frowns in confusion.  “But if you don’t mind me asking, um.  Why are they putting you through trial?  I know that those things are less for justice and more for show, and usually, they like to choose the biggest and the strongest of our soldiers to show that they have the power to crush even the best of the lowbloods.  And you’re.  Well.  Take no offense, I mean, you’re--”

“No, I know what you’re saying,” you sigh, absentmindedly punching your legs.  “I think the highbloods, just fancy a joke, uh, once in a while.  I was kept by the platoon, that, uh, captured me, for a few weeks.  But then I kind of, uh, did something, that pissed off, the new captain, because communing, with his lusus, was something I might have done.  Um.  I know it’s, uh, weird, but communing with lusii, is just something, I’ve been able to do, since, uh, always--”

“You're good at communing?” Xefros suddenly interrupts.

“Um, yes?”

“My moirail said the guy who saved him was the most talented psychic bronzeblood he’d ever met,” Xefros says.  “Wait.  How old are you, Tavros?”  

“Nine-and-a-half?”

“And what exactly happened to your platoon?”

“It’s funny, actually--well, not funny in the amusing, kind of way, but more an, unexpectedly coincidental, sort of way, but something similar to what happened to your moirail’s platoon, happened to mine.  We were surprise attacked, and that’s where I got shot, in the spine--” you gesture to the area of your injury.

“And--the hoofbeasts--brought your commander to safety--you communed--” Xefros gasps.

You frown.  “How do you--wait.”

“You're from the Twelfth Infantry Division?” he cries.

“Your moirail is Commander Dammek?” you ask incredulously.

You don't expect it when Xefros grabs your shirt and pulls you forward, enveloping you in a tight, desperate embrace.  He buries his face into your shoulder and you feel your shirt getting warm and wet as Xefros sobs into it.  “You--saved--my--moirail!” he sobs.  “He told me--how it happened--it was you! Thank--you--thank you!  You sacrificed yourself--for him--I can't--how can we ever repay--you--you're a--a hero!  A hero!  Thank you…”

You never saw your act as one of valor or heroism, and you are a bit bewildered by Xefros’s outburst, but you can't deny that it makes you feel warm inside knowing that you did some good.  He continues to cling to you for ten minutes, crying and thanking you and apologizing for the fate that your selfless act condemned you to, but you assure him that you would do it all over again if you had to.

While Xefros breaks down on your shoulder, you start to notice that a lot of people are staring at you two.  What exactly is it that attracts there attention so?  After a little while, Xefros finally calms down and hiccups, “Sorry, buddy.  I totally embarrassed myself there.  I’m just a little emotional is all.  Dammek is my whole world.”

“Don't, worry about it.”  It all makes you see your commander a little differently, because he was always sullen and strict and sometimes downright mean when you served under him.  Looks like he, just like many others, was hiding something much more vulnerable behind the mask he presented the world.  

Much like Gamzee.

After several minutes of silence, you can't bear it anymore.  “Xefros...why is everyone staring at us?”

He turns to look at you.  “I think they're...staring at YOU, actually.  I was actually going to ask you about that.  Your pants…they're…”

“Oh.  Well, uh, the subjugglator who brought me in here, thought it would take too long, if I tried to change, since my legs can't, uh, move.  I'm actually kind of happy, about that, because these are, uh, pants, that Gamzee gave me.”

Xefros ogles you with horror painted on his face.  His burgundy irises are but mere pinpoints among the yellow of his eyes.

“What?” you ask, bemused.

“Those are...subjugglator pants…”

Oh.  OH.

“You said you'd known him for a few weeks...but you didn't mean AFTER you were captured...did you?”

“Xefros…”

“Oh my gog.”  His mouth opens and closes a few times.  “You said...you and...Gamzee...have different blood colors, but...I didn't think you meant..purple blood!”

“I…”

Xefros suddenly starts scrambling to stand.  “I…I can't do this.  I'm sorry Tavros, but if you're sympathetic to the High--to THEIR side--”

“Xefros, wait! I'm not!”  You don't want to lose your new friend so quickly.

“Purpleblood...matesprit…”

“He's not my matesprit!”

“You might as well be,” Xefros sweats.  “Regardless, that must mean, you're allied with--”

“Gamzee is sympathetic to OUR cause!” you hiss, keeping your voice in an undertone so that no one overheard you.

“But how can that--how can that be--a highblood--”

“If you so easily believed that I could be sympathetic to the High Side, then why is it, so hard to believe, that a highblood could be sympathetic, to us?”

This makes Xefros pause.

“Xefros, if I had any loyalties, towards the High Side, I wouldn't have saved Commander Dammek, would I?”

Xefros gulps as these words, and slowly, he sits back down, although he still looks highly uncomfortable.

“But--I don't understand,” he finally says.  “How can you still support the Low Side if you actually...like highbloods?  Isn't what the Low Side is all about, is defeating them?”

“I don't like Gamzee because, he's a highblood,” you explain delicately.  “I like him, because, uh, he's Gamzee.  Didn't you say that sex doesn't matter, it's the feelings, that count?  Or something, like that?  Why should blood, be more important, than feelings?”

Xefros frowns.  

“Would you stop loving Dammek, if he were a highblood?” you try.

“Of course not,” he replies automatically, before flushing rust a second later.  “But--but he's not!”

“Bronze, is still higher than, burgundy, you know.  What if bronzebloods were considered, highbloods?  I don't think, you would feel any differently, about Dammek.”

You can see conflict swimming in his eyes.

“It's not really highbloods, who are, at fault,” you continue.  “It's just the way our society, has worked, uh, for too long, that is wrong.”

“But the--but the Low Side--” he protests weakly.

“I completely, support the Low Side, Xefros,” you assure him.  “Because the way things, are right now, with the highbloods in power, is absolutely, WRONG.”  His eyes widen at the uncharacteristic vehemence you thrust into the last word.  “But privately, I just wish that we weren't, fighting for power.  I wish, everyone could be equal.  Imagine, a world, where I could be friends with burgundybloods--” you think of Aradia--”and fuchsiabloods” you think of Feferi-- “and mutantbloods aren’t shunned--” you think of Karkat-- “maybe auspisticize with jadebloods and tealbloods--” you think of the roiling tension with Kanaya and Terezi the other day-- “maybe a blueblood kismesis--” where did THAT come from-- “and if I see a violetblood on the street, neither of us, would have to be afraid.”  You think of Captain Ampora.  “And maybe, if encountering a violetblood, is something that really does happen, then maybe, my purpleblood...uh...matesprit...would be the one, pushing me, in my four-wheel device.  Uh, hypothetically, of course.”  You blush.  “Wouldn't that be...nice?”

You look back at Xefros, and you've never seen someone look so torn before.  As the seconds tick by, and his shoulders are still hunched with tension, his legs curled as though ready to abscond at any moment, your bloodpusher sinks and your hopes fall.  You scramble to think of something to say.  The words you just spouted from your mouth about some nonexistent world were probably the most ridiculous thing that Xefros had ever heard, and he was probably trying to decide if you were untrustworthy or just mentally disturbed--

Suddenly, he lets out a long breath and looks into your eyes earnestly.  “That would be unbelievable,” he whispers.  “That would be amazing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, just to be absolutely clear before people start getting confused: in this ficverse, fuchsiabloods are rare but they're not as rare as they are in canon. There are more than just the Empress and Heiress at one time. So, Feferi is a one of a couple of fuchsiabloods living in the Capitol, another one of which is Xefros and Dammek's mistress. Makes kinda sense? }:o)
> 
> Another thing: it was mentioned in the first chapter but to reinforce the idea: hemospectral lifespans are not nearly as variant in this fic as in canon. I always found the different lifespans of different bloodcastes to be unnecessary and tragic. I mean, they're all part of the same species! I could understand if lifepsans between castes were slightly different, maybe by five or ten sweeps or something, but seriously we're talking about thousands and tens of thousands of sweeps for highbloods and a few mere decades of life for lowbloods. I hate that. So for the sake of my poor bloodpusher let's assume that the castes have similar lifespans. Maybe the lowbloods are a little shorter. But just a little. 
> 
> Okay, how do you feel about this chapter? I don't know how it got to be this long. Half of the content was supposed to be in the last chapter, but that too got too long so I cut it off. Seriously, why do I feel the need to write so many friggin DETAILSSSSSSSS Before you know it I'll be saying, he breathed, and then out, and in, and out, for ten seconds, before-----


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the AMAZING SageMasterofSass! http://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/pseuds/SageMasterofSass
> 
> This chapter contains SEXUAL CONTENT.
> 
> Now fucking read it.
> 
> Art for this chapter at: https://yzydragon2222.deviantart.com/art/none-of-your-fuckin-business-720139820?ga_submit_new=10%3A1513313610
> 
> update 2/22/2018: New art for this chapter done by my absolutely AMAZING friend inheritedpancakes! https://www.deviantart.com/art/Gift-for-yzydragon2222-1-732288650 and https://www.deviantart.com/art/Gift-2-732289777 You literally chose the best scenes to draw. This was an amazing birthday gift! Love you to piece my dear! :*

Chapter 14

→ BE TAVROS NITRAM

Xefros stays by your side for the rest of the night, and you get the feeling he needs company just as much as you do.  After finding out that you were the one who saved his moirail, and after your little speech about an ideal, equal society, he seemed to have an increased respect for you in his rust-colored eyes.  

The two of you reminisce about your lives up to this point, trying to focus on the happy bits.  You end up telling him more about Gamzee, and he seems more and more accepting of the idea that your friend is a purple highblood--but it's still slow. You realize that if you don't tell Xefros now, you might very well be taking the secret of what a wonderful troll Gamzee is to your grave.  Gamzee obviously wasn't kidding when he said that other subjugglators didn't like him.  He really was friendless.  Your bloodpusher clenches when you think about the fact that when he wakes up from whatever they injected him with (sopor, perhaps?), you, his only true friend, will no longer be by his side.

You  shudder to think what he might do.

However, you and Xefros can't talk forever, and soon enough your throat is dry and raw and your stomach growling in protest of its emptiness.  Unfortunately, Xefros informs you that scant bits of food and water (which he describes as rock-hard bread and diluted mud--many prisoners here actually die from malnutrition and disease) are only provided once a night here, at the beginning of the evening.  Tonight’s rations were already handed out before your arrival in Lotam.

So after a while, you and Xefros simply lie next to each other there, on the bare, hard ground, in companionable silence. His thoughts are swirling, no doubt, around Dammek, and yours on Gamzee.  

Your fingers absentmindedly ghost over the numbers freshly branded into your forearm.  You suck on your lip.  You really are very hungry and thirsty.  

“LISTEN UP, SCUM!” booms a voice, and you jump, startled.  With a sinking heart, you realize that it’s the clown lady.  “IT’S ALMOST TIME TO SAY GOOD MORNING.  YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO PILE YOUR SHITBLOODED CARCASSES INTO YOUR PENS BEFORE WE TURN ON THE MOTHERFUCKING LIGHTS.”

“Oh, shit,” Xefros says shakily, from beside you.  “Is it that time of day already?”  He looks up at the gradually brightening sky with a queasy, weary look.  “Looks like it is.”

“What, is it?” you ask, not comprehending.

“When it’s time for bed, the subjugglators crowd all of us into those tents,” he explains.  “And then they use their chucklevoodoos to force us to sleep.  But--it’s mostly the nightmares, really, that are...”  He shudders.

“O-oh.”  You’ve had more than your fair share of experience with chucklevoodoos and you’re not looking forward to experiencing them again.  

“That woman wasn’t here until yesterday,” he comments with a frown, looking at the clown lady.  “I mean, all of the subjugglators are scary, but she’s even worse.”

All around the camp, prisoners are hurrying back into the purple circus tents, moving like zombies with dread and despondency weighing down their limbs.  You sigh, and with great difficulty, you turn over onto your stomach again, supporting yourself by your elbows.  You are about to start dragging yourself the long distance towards the tents when Xefros cries, “Wait!  What are you doing?”

“Um, I’m trying, to make my way over there,” you explain to him.  “I should, definitely hurry, since we only have five minutes, and, uh, crawling there, might take a while, for me,” you add, a bit bitterly.

“What!  Don’t be ridiculous, don’t crawl!” Xefros says.  You look up at him questioningly.  “Here, I’ll--carry you.”

He manages to help you sit back up again, and then he kneels in front of you and, feeling ridiculous, you wrap your arms around his neck.  He hooks each of your legs under his arms and heaves himself up.  Immediately, you can feel him teetering from your weight.  You and he are about the same size, and he is really is not very strong at all, and on top of that is malnourished from the days he has spent here at Lotam.  

“If I had--better control--over my--telekinesis I would--use that--to help carry your weight but--I can’t really do anything--but bend forks--with my psychic--powers--” he pants, as he drags himself step by step towards the tents with you on his back.  

“Are you, sure about this, Xefros?” you ask, as you feel him dangerously close to falling on his face for a fourth time.  “It is not a very, pleasant thing, to have to do, but I can still, make my own way over there, on my arms,” you insist.  

“Don’t--be--ridiculous--” he protests.  

The two of you make it to one of the polka-dotted tents with less than a minute left to the five minute warning.  A lot of the prisoners are staring at you, and several of the subjugglator guards are openly pointing and laughing.  You and Xefros must really be some spectacle, a weak little rustblood lugging a crippled bronzeblood on his back.  You’re sure that’s the only reason the subjugglators aren’t forcing the two of you to separate and making you crawl on your own.  Xefros’s breathing is labored and his movements jerky and unbalanced, and you’re sure your face is about to catch on fire in its heated humiliation.   

Numerous bunks are crammed inside the tent, and most are already filled with bodies, each hard, dirty mattress crammed with two or three trolls.  Some sleep under the bunks or on the floor, curled up into filthy balls.  There is a grossly unpleasant smell of death hanging in the stale air, and Xefros informs you that it is because many trolls die in their chucklevoodoo-induced sleep over the day in these very tents.  You blanch.  Xefros tells you that most prisoners prefer to sleep in bunks near the back of the tent, farther away from the guards stationed at the entrance.  However, the two of you are so late that even the bunks in the front are full, so you have no choice but to us a small space on the floor.

“I’m sorry, to have cost you, a more optimal position, within these quarters,” you mumble guiltily.  

“Please, don’t worry about it,” he assures you, trying to set you down gently.  “It’s not worth fighting over everyone else trying to get a spot in the back, anyway.  Besides, it’s so much more crowded back there.”  He ends up dropping you on the hard surface, simply because his muscles give out.  “Oof!” both of you cry.  He gives you a sheepish smile.   

He climbs over you and tries to lie next to you.  He is forced to do some gymnastics to fit since your horns extend so far out to the side, and he ends up bending his neck at an awkward angle while you tilt your head as far to the right as you can. His horns are no laughing matter, either, and a scenario where the two of you spear one another in your sleep on accident is a legitimate threat.

“I’m really sorry you have to experience this, Tavros,” Xefros mutters.  “This next part might be very horrible.”

“Don’t, uh, apologize, I’m glad I don’t have to go through this, alone,” you tell him.  “Not that, uh, suffering is something, I wish for you, to have to go through, as well.  But it helps, to have a, friend.”

“The same to you,” he says.  “It was really horrible before you arrived.  I haven’t even been here for that long, either, but I was going crazy from the terror and the loneliness.  But the chucklevoodoos, they’re always the worst part, because it’s just so--”

Just so what?  You never find out what Xefros is about to say, because the clown lady’s booming voice suddenly rocks your eardrums once more.  “ALL RIGHT, MY SWEET DIRTY SHITBLOOOOODS.  LIGHTS.  ON.”

And the effect is immediate.  The subjugglators in the camp activate their chucklevoodoos, and a pan-numbing AGONY splits through the middle of your skull, as though the saw you had seen back in the horn-removal room is forcing its way through your head, by its BLUNT side--

You are incapable of doing much more than moan and groan, barely even aware of the cramped, uncomfortable surroundings of your physical body.  Fleeting images of violence and bloodshed and horror race through your thinkpan, nothing concrete enough for you to actually comprehend but terrifying all the same.  Flames burn your tired muscles, and a phantom pain shoots through your legs, making you want to curl your toes--

It continues this way for a few minutes, but gradually, the agony recedes from your forehead and temples to a dull pounding in the back of your skull.  The images in your pan darken into fleeting shadows and you are able to see around yourself with your own eyes again.  The burn in your body flickers out, leaving a sweating, panting mass in the aftershocks of torture, and nothingness replaces the ghost of sensation in your legs once more.  

You attempt to calm your mind, and once you have regained some semblance of your breath, you glance around you to see who else has managed to extricate themselves from the chucklevoodoos.

...No one.

Everyone, including Xefros right next to you, has their eyes screwed shut, some with whimpers and shrieks escaping from their throats and others with parched black lips open in a silent scream.  They are still “asleep”, you realize.  It is haunting, looking at them, so far lost in their psychological torture even though they are close enough to touch.  

“Xefros?  Xefros,” you call quietly, shaking your friend slightly, hating to see him condemned to this.  You automatically reach out with your communing powers, but stop when you are quickly blocked; you'd forgotten that that only works on Gamzee.  

You decide to wait a few more minutes, but nothing changes.  Despite the mass of bodies in the tent, everyone breathes the same nightmarish breath, unable to wake up.

Except you.

Why are you different? you wonder.  You don't know whether to be grateful or horrified, because of course you are glad not to be subjected to this, but there is no happiness in watching the other prisoners get punished.

And suddenly it occurs to you, why you're the only one not susceptible.  Gamzee’s chucklevoodoos. According to him, he is much more powerful than most other subjugglators, similar to the way your communing is much more effective than other brownbloods’.  He'd credited his ancestry for his powers, but hadn't elaborated.  You were just kind of amazed he even knew who his ancestor was.

You'd been subjected to his powerful psychics for so long and so often, back when he was still trying to make you feel hatred for him so that he would feel justified in killing you, that you had become--immune, for lack of a better word, to these chucklevoodoo powers, especially when performed by a lesser purpleblood than Gamzee.

You can’t help but start to cry: even when he was trying to hurt you, he was indirectly protecting you.  

You don’t have any time to contemplate this further when the tent flap suddenly opens, sending a small flood of light into your eyes.  You wince and automatically bring your hands up over your face.  

You regret it.

It’s the mean clown lady.  For some reason, you just have the feeling that she was coming to look for you.  The moment you move, her eyes zero in on you, and despite your attempts to pretend to be asleep, it’s too late.  

Even though you know she’s seen you, you curl in on yourself as best as you can and close your eyes, leaving a millimeter between your lids so that you can see what’s happening.  She looks at you for a moment of shock.  Then she looks all around you at the other asleep prisoners, then back to you.

She moves closer.  “I know you’re awake,” she whispers in your ear, and the shudder that runs through you both is involuntary and gives your consciousness away.

“So you ARE a little bit special, after all.” She chuckles lowly, and it’s worse than all the times she yelled loudly or cursed at you.  “I can see where Makara was goin’ with this.”

→ BE ERIDAN AMPORA

Of all the shitty days you’ve had in your relatively short life, the past two have definitely fuckin’ topped them.  

“Don't touch me, I--I hate you!” Fef’s last words to you echo endlessly in your thinkpan, haunting your dreams when you’re asleep and haunting you while you’re awake.

How could she be so blind, and not see that you were only doing the best for her?  Did she really think that you WANTED to send her away?  You had to, before any encounters with lowbloods corrupted her even more, before her wavering sympathies got her hurt.  

And yet she looked more hurt than you can ever remember seeing when you told her you were discharging her.  

Right now, you think you wouldn't care if Fef never returned your red feelings.  You wouldn't even care if she didn't ever want you in any of her quadrants.  You just want her to forgive you.

Seahorsedad is mostly back to normal now; being your lusus, his number one concern is always going to be you, and he's had to have sensed your dismay these few days.  However, seeing Seahorsedad just reminds you of Makara and the fuckin’ shitblood who caused this whole mess.

You really fuckin’ hope that brownblood bull-horned piece of shit gets what he deserves.

On the other hand, being captain fits you like a glove, if you may say so yourself (not that you'll be one for much longer, if the Capitol technology is finished as quickly as they say it will be.  When you told the troops about it yesterday, after reading through Nektan’s letters and files, they were all rather enthusiastic at the prospect of all shitblood's finally being put in their place). Rather ironically, its when you're in front of your platoon barking out orders that you feel the most relaxed. You're pretty sure the soldiers hate you now, but you don't give a fuck what those morons think.  Or so you tell yourself.  Nektan might as well have been made out of wet clay for all he did as a captain; he was lazy and laid-back and cared more about having a good time than actually doing his job--that is, preparing the troops to actually win some fuckin’ battles! He only actually did shit when he had to. Well, you know what?  Not you!  Just because highblood victory is gonna be handed to all of you in a bag doesn't mean you get to slack.

You've been forcing the entire division to train and do drills from evening till morning since you became captain.  They're fine soldiers, the lot of them, but training to be in absolute tippy-top shape won't hurt. This is how the brilliant military generals and conquerors through history thought, right?

It's been two days since Fef, Makara, and the shitblood left, and they should've long since arrived in Lotam by now.  

Right now, it's near morning, and you decide it's time to let your troops rest.  “All right, fuckers, listen up!” you bark.  They cease doing their push-ups.  “Performance wwas mediocre today.”  You see some disappointed, frustrated, and even angry faces.  “I mean it wwas okay, but I expect more from highbloods like you.

“Twwenty more push-ups an’ then I’m lettin’ you off for the day.  But I expect more from you tomorroww.”

There are groans about the twenty extra push-ups, but mostly sighs of relief that the end is finally in sight.  As they're working, you call, “Oh, an’ another thing.  Wwe’re attackin’ that lowwblood platoon the night after tomorroww, so make sure all your wweapons an’ shit are packed and ready to go by the time you wwake up, or I'm leavvin’ you behind.”

“Whaaaaaaaat?  I thought the plan was to attack in six more days.”

You look up in surprise at the voice that posed the question.  It's Vris, and unsurprisingly she's the first one to finish her push-ups, and she's already standing and brushing off her uniform with just the slightest sheen of cerulean sweat on her face, her chest rising and falling lightly from the exertion.  She's thin and of average height, and how she ever got to be so strong and resilient is beyond you.  

Normally, you wouldn't be surprised at her speaking or posing questions, but for the past two days you've gotten the impression that she's trying to ignore you. She hasn't said a single word to you and she arrives at training just in time and leaves right after it finishes, without sparing you a glance.  Not that you talked excessively with her before, because she's a bitch if nothing else, but in truth you are quite friendless and she was one of the few who actually did at least exchange some words, rather than mere silence, with you.  There was never this cold-shoulder feeling.  Maybe it's because Fef’s no longer here that you're even paying attention to this shit, but it's definitely bothering you more than it should.

You realize you've been staring at her for a little too long without actually answering her question, so you quickly snap, “Wwell, I'm the fuckin’ captain, so I get to change the plans wwhen I wwanna.”

She nonchalantly looks skyward:  “It's forecasted to rain that day.”

You know that, and it's harder to fight in the rain when visibility is low, but part of you just wants to expedite the process of getting rid of that shitblood platoon, and part of you wants to change the plans just because you can.  Besides, “That'll just make it all the more unexpected for them.  It's not like wwe can't take ‘em at any time of the fuckin’ day wwe wwant, anywway.”

“But we don't have a ceeeeeeeertain purpleblood with us this time.  He was our most powerful weapon, you know--”

“Yeah, wwell I don't givve a fuck,” you huff.  “S’not like wwe really need that crazy clowwn ass.”

Everyone is done with their exercises by now, and half of the soldiers have already retreated, either to socialize or sleep.  The area is half clear by now, but some are lingering and watching your conversation with Vris in interest.  

“Run along,” you snap at them, and they hastily duck their heads as you call them out.  “I need to talk to Serket privvately.”

They shuffle out pretty quickly, and you wait until all of them have left before you trudge up to Vris, a heavy frown on your face.  

“Wwhat’s up wwith you?” you demand.

She raises an unimpressed brow at you and crosses her arms.  “What makes you think anything’s up?”

“You’re actin’ wweird.  You’vve been avvoidin’ me--”

She laughs that cruel, mocking laugh of hers and you must be more tired than you thought because it grates on your nerves like a fuckin’ cheese grater or somethin’.  “Awwwwwwww,” she crows, purposely drawing out the w’s just to mock you, “is the mighty violetblood sad that he’s getting ignored?  Is he sad that no one likes him even though he's the captain now?  Hahahahahahahaha!”

“Stop it,” you growl, feeling your face grow warm. The worst thing about Vris is that if she chooses to make you her target, not only is she savage with her insults, but she's also always terrifyingly right.  “Make fun ‘a’ me all you wwant, but that doesn't answwer my question!”

“Oh, I don't knoooooooow, maybe you're the one being sensitive.  At least, more than is usual for you, Ampora.  Sheeeeeeeesh, you're so melodramatic, I think I might swoon!”

You clench your fists to keep yourself from slapping her mouth shut.  What’s a blueblood landweller talkin’ to you like that for?  

But you calm yourself, because getting the rise out of you is probably exactly what Vris wants.  Instead, you decide to take her by surprise.  

“You’re right,” you say with a smirk.  “And I’vve been rude.  Come noww, instead of squabblin’ like a pair of wwigglers out here, wwhy don’t you come wwith me an’ we can banter like proper adult trolls ovver somethin’ to drink?”  Besides, you don’t think you can deal with Vris without some alcohol.  You miss the fine wine back home, but the best you can get out here is cheap beer.  It’ll have to do, for now.

The stunned reaction on Vris’s part makes you feel triumphant, even if her visible astoundment only lasts for a fraction of a second.  She’s quick, Vris is.  

“All right, Mr. Aaaaaaaampora, lead the way, if you’ll be so kind,” she says in a liquid voice, and she dares hook her arm around yours in some bastardization of the affectionate gesture as the two of you walk back to your tent.  It makes you shiver.

Once you're in your tent, Vris doesn't hesitate to sit herself down in your chair.  You only have one in here, because you don't normally invite others inside, and her purposefully rude action makes you grind your teeth.  “Make yourself at home,” you say sarcastically.

“Oh don't worry, I plan to,” she answers cryptically.

Feeling stifled and restricted, you unbutton your uniform jacket and shrug it off, leaving you in your undershirt.  Out of habit, you pick up your scarf and wrap it around your neck.  You feel naked without the damn thing, even if the weather is mostly unsuitable for it.  You can feel Vris’s eyes on you, judging you.

You quickly grab two bottles of beer.  You don't even bother to look for plastic cups.  You don't underestimate yourself or Vris; the two of you will drink straight out of the bottle.

“Ugh, this is shit,” she complains after the first sip.

“Tell me about it.”  You sit down at the edge of your bed, since your chair is already occupied, and try to start off with some more small talk.  “So Eq nevver reported back from the mission, huh?”

“Nope.  Reckon the clown killed him.”

“Howw do you feel about that?”  You know Vris and Eq were neighbors before the war.  

“Meh, it was gonna happen sooner or later.  Horsieboy never did learn to grow a real bulge.”

You're not really sure what to make of that.  You can't tell if she's being sincere or not and you decide it doesn't matter.  The two of down your drinks in a couple of tense, silent minutes.  It's like you're daring each other to break the silence first.  Finally, you can't bear it anymore.  Quiet games are silly, anyway.

“So are you gonna tell me wwhy you're upset wwith me?  And don't givve me that shit about it bein’ my imagination an’ all that.  The moment I became captain you started runnin’ evvery time I wwas in the vvicinity if you could help it.  I'd say you wwere scared ‘a’ me but I ain't stupid, nothin’ scares you.”

You expect her to give some roundabout, frustratingly misleading answer, but she is surprisingly direct.  She looks at you and plainly says, “Yep! You're right.  I'm upset with you because you sent Toreadumbass away!”

“Toreadumb--wwhat? Wwho the fuck--”

“Toreadumbass?  Toreadork?  Bighorn Cripplelegs?”

It clicks in your thinkpan and you explode.  “WWHY DOES EVVERYTHIN’ HAVVE TO DO WWITH HIM?”

“Jealous?”

“Shovve it, you! In fact, noww that I think back, you're the one wwho evven brought him back here in the first place wwhen you coulda just killed him an’ prevvented all this trouble!  Wwhy didn't you do that, anywway?”

Vris shrugs.  “He's cute.  I wanted to fuck him,” she says nonchalantly.  “And I still think you're jealous.  Even with violet blood you can't compete with a boring bronzeblood because you're just.  That. Booooooooring.”

“Hey!  Shut up!” you yell, squeezing the neck of your beer bottle probably too hard.  “That doesn't explain wwhy you're upset to see him leavve.”

“Well, how is Tavros supposed to survive, as weak as he is, in the fucking Capitol?”

“Uhh, that he doesn't survvivve is kinda...THE FUCKIN’ POINT?”

“But what good is he to anyone dead?  There was so much poteeeeeeeential there, and I barely got started.”

“Potential for wwhat?  The lowwblood didn't givve us any useful information about the Loww Side, an’ he caused anarchy just by bein’ here.”

“Oh, please.  Tavros didn't do jack shit.  It was just you violetblood wigglers running around flipping shit over the littlest things.”

“Howw do you explain wwhat Makara did, then?  And the shitblood’s fuckin’ communin’--”

You pause, realizing that aside from your report to the Capitol, you hadn't yet told anyone what the deal with Seahorsedad had been.  

“Communing?  What are you talking about?” Vris’s entire posture has perked up.

You sigh, knowing that now that you've snagged her interest, she's not going to let go until she wheedles it out of you.  “You remember wwhen Nektan wwas fuckin’ the shitblood, and my lusus fuckin’ flipped his shit in the middle of it?  That was the shitblood communin’ wwith him.  He fuckin’ communes with lusii and--”

You are interrupted by Vris laughing.  “So THAT’S why he said his lusus called him a toreador.”

You gape at Vris in disbelief.  “Are you evven fuckin’ listenin’ to me?  I just said he fuckin’ communes with fuckin’ lusii!  Howw are you not surprised?”

She shakes her head.  “I am surprised.  That's a rare gift, isn't it?  In fact, I've never heard of one like it before.  All the more of a pity if he dies.  Tsk tsk, waaaaaaaasted potential.  And now I understand why you're acting like he personally insulted your precious hair.”

“It’s not a fuckin’ gift, it’s a wwicked as dark magic is wwhat it is.  He’s dangerous--”

“Oh, please, dangerous is the laaaaaaaast thing that stutter mouth is, and you can’t deny that he was just using your seahorse as self-defense.”

“Wwhat the actual fuck, Vvris, wwhy are you defendin’ him--”

“I’m not defending him,” she snaps.  “I just thought it was fun to toy with him, see what pushed his buttons to the limit.  And youuuuuuuu, Mr. Ampora, took my toy away from me.  I don’t like it when people take away my toys.”

“You’re disgustin’,” you spit.  “How you find that crippled freak even remotely close to fuckable is beyond me.  His cum probably looks like mud.  Can he evven cum with his legs like that?  Did you see his legs, all shrivveled and dead and wweird--”

“Sounds to me like you were checking him out, Captain.  And yes, of course I did, seeing as I’m the one who shot him in the spine.”

You blink.  “You did that?  Oh, wwell, good job then.”

Vris usually takes pride in the injuries or deaths she causes, but this time she makes no comment of your praise.  “Besides, Toreadork doesn’t need legs to show me a gooooooood time.  I could just...mmm, stick those horns of his in the ceiling, maybe, then he’ll be more than tall enough for me to doooooooo things to him.”

You try not to gag at the mental image, which you’re sure Vris is evoking only to gross you out.  And then you’re suddenly grateful that your horns, while not small in any sense of the word, point backward, making it impossible for Vris to ever stick them in the ceiling if she tried.  Whoa, where the FUCK did that thought come from?  “If big horns really are a kink of yours, wwhy not find yourself a respectable blueblood bitch wwell-endowwed in that particular area?”  You try to remember Vris’s fucktoys of the past, but you don’t particularly remember big horns being a thing.  

“But respectable is so booooooooring,” she says flippantly.  “You forget that my powers are geared towards the mind manipulation of the lower classes!  I can't influence anyone here, except for a few of the stupid tealbloods, but none of them are fun.  Terezi is the only one interesting enough but she's way too smart for me to manipulate.  It’s not often I have fresh bronzeblood minds ripe for the picking, and Tavros is just so ripe.”

You curl your lip in a sneer.  “It’s not like that wworked, if I remember correctly.  He totally threww you off.  Maybe your powwers are wweaker than you claim, if you couldn’t evven penetrate a shitblood.”  You’re trying to get a rise out of her.

“Oh, but that’s what makes him so much more iiiiiiiinteresting, you see, Ampora?  Not that you would know much about interesting.  But if you must know, his thinkpan was so stuuuuuuuuborn and haaaaaaaard, with just the right amount of fiiiiiiiire, rubbing hotly against me in aaaaaaaaall.  The riiiiiiiight.  Plaaaaaaaces.”  She exaggerates her syllables in a manner that is just ridiculous, and with each drawn-out vowel, she scoots a little closer to you, just to make you uncomfortable, and you don’t move away from her.  

“I think you’vve become.  Attached.  To.  It,” you drawl back.

Vris immediately moves away from you and you find yourself a bit disappointed.  “Don’t be silly,” she laughs a bit too harshly.  “I don’t get attached to anything.”

You smirk.

She sees it, and you can see the viciousness flick on like a light switch in her cobalt eyes.  “So what about you, Ampora?  What’s been up with you, lately?  ‘And don't givve me that shit about it bein’ my imagination an’ all that.’”  You scowl at the way she throws your own words right back at you, right down to your weird accent.  “Working the troops extra hard, trying to prove your masculinity, hmmmmmmmm?  Who are you trying to impress?  It’s not like...hmm, a certain, fishy someone, is here to look at you pretend to be macho.”

“I’m not tryin’ to ‘impress’ anyone!  I’m just doin’ my goddamn job!”

“My my my, so much tension bottled up in there, my good sir.  Hahahahahahahaha,” she ridicules.  “Angry doesn’t look good on you, Eridan.”  You are a bit startled when she uses your first name for the first time today.  “Maybe if you didn’t look that way all the time, Feferi would have actually given you the time of the day!”

You don’t even register yourself leaping to your feet.  “Fuck you!  That is NONE of your fuckin’ business, you creepy lowwblood bulgelicker!”

She gets to her feet too.  “Oh but it is, when you scream her name loud enough for the entire fucking camp to hear in the middle of the day when you’re alone in your tent!”

 

 

“I fuckin’ do NOT!”  Because you’re quiet about that.  Aren’t you?

Her eyes widen with glee.  “Or maybe Feferi’s already seen your chode, and that’s why she left for the Capitol in such a hurry, hmm?  So your macho act is just compensating for not being BIG enough, is that it?”

“Tch, I don’t havve to compensate for anythin’, bitch.  If anythin’ I need to givve myself a fine just to balance out howw much I’vve got,” you snarl.

“Really, Eridan?” she cackles.  “Why don’t you show me.”  

It’s not a question.

Fuck.  

She’s hot.  

You’ve always known Vris was hot, but she always had her toys to play with and you were devoting the attention intended for all four of your quadrants to Fef alone, only Fef isn’t here right now and gog are you angry.  

You scoot forward on the edge of your bed with a smirk on your lips and a Vriska-sized opening between your legs, feeling more reckless and daring than you have for a long time.  

“Go ahead,” you dare her.  “Showw yourself.”

There is no room for love when she shoves your uniform pants and boxers down in one swift move, and you are too far gone to even care that your bulge is already beginning to protrude from its sheath, a thin film of slick violet covering the awakening tip.

Vris is situating herself in that space you left for her between your legs, still fully clothed, and oh fuck, her face is leaning closer and closer to your--

Her lips graze the violet sheen on your bulge, but somehow she doesn’t actually touch your flesh.  Instead, all you feel is her breath. “Mmmm, you want this, don’t you, Eridan?” a droplet of your violet on her blue lips, which she barely moves as she speaks.

→ BE TAVROS NITRAM

Where Makara was going with what?  You’re not sure what to expect when she says those things into your ear, but the last thing you expect is for her large hands to cradle you almost gently as she lifts you up and moves you to a more spacious area on the floor.  There’s no rough handling, no shoving, no grabbing, no clawing.  

Instead, you watch helplessly as she lifts the skinny things that are your legs and sets them down, again gently, spread wide apart.  You’re pretty sure you weren’t flexible enough to be spread so widely apart when you could still feel the strain in your muscles.  

“Don’t look so scared, whore,” she croons, crawling in between your legs.  “You like being fucked by purplebloods, remember?  I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want.”

Her fingers take a hold of your--no Gamzee’s, these are Gamzee’s pants--waistband.

You’re suffocating.  You’re choking--

“Tell Gamzee how much you want this,” she says.

“W-what?”

“I said, tell your highblood lover how much you want this.”

“I'm--he's not--”

“Tell him, or I'm gonna leave you here like this right now, and I'm gonna cut his fuckin’ tongue out.”

Both the threat, and exactly what she wants you to do, register in your thinkpan at the same time.  The words tumble out of your lips before you can think much about it.  

“I want this...so much, Gamzee,” you say in a strangled, dry, heartbroken sob.  

The worst thing is that you can imagine yourself saying those words, but the face that smiles down at you and the hands that tug your pants down from your hips are completely wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong--

→ BE ERIDAN AMPORA

You don't have time to answer, before Vris takes hold of the tip of your bulge in between her POINTED TEETH and PULLS, just lightly enough not to puncture your sensitive flesh, but enough to hurt like a son of a bitch.  You swallow the embarrassing yelp and instead throw your head back and groan, not even caring when your glasses fall off of your face.  Amazingly enough, your bulge allows itself to be coaxed out by Vris’s mouth, and you will it not to wriggle too much, lest Vris’s teeth actually do breach the skin.  

After most of your length has been extracted from its sheath, the only contact with it STILL being the sharp points of her teeth, you look down at Vris with as much challenge as you can muster.  “So?” you say as haughtily as possible.  “Impressed?”

Her eyes are dark with lust, and her voice sounds shorter of breath, yet deeper, than she normally sounds.  “Oh, Mr. Ampora.  Not a chode after all,” she smirks, finally letting go of your bulge, and you swear can see little teeth marks on it.  “But I never aaaaaaaactually doubted that you were decent down here.  But now I've got you exaaaaaaaactly where I want you.” She pushes your legs a little farther apart.  

A confusing combination of lust and panic surges in your gut.  “Wwhat are you talkin’ about?”

“This,” she says, bringing up an index finger, giving it a good long suck, and shoving it through the folds of your skin and into your nook.

→ BE TAVROS NITRAM

You know where her fingers are--playing with the seedflaps at the entrance of your nook, even though you can't feel it, and you don't want to look, either.  You turn your head (as much as you can, with those horns, anyway) to the side, but then you see Xefros there, still suffering through his nightmare, and when you turn to the other side you see countless unconscious bodies of lowbloods and if you look ahead, there’s the clown lady--so you close your eyes but that's not any better because Gamzee’s image is tattooed onto the back of your eyelids, like the number 82 is branded into your skin.

Then she pushes one finger in and you FEEL it, and it's not like the mind-numbing pain you experienced just a few days ago from Nektan--this time it's slow and you can feel every ridge of her digit caressing the spongy flesh inside of you, and you gasp--it feels so strange, not being able to feel your thighs or hips or even your butt or anything else around your nook, but feeling so acutely inside of it, like a floating mass of sensation disconnected from the rest of your body--and it feels so wrong, and it feels so good.  

You focus on that face you see behind your closed eyelids, not the woman physically between your legs, and you feel your bulge begin to awaken, unfurling from its hiding spot.

→ BE ERIDAN AMPORA

“Holy--FUCK!” you cry out, the electric sensation spreading through every violet vein and artery in your body.  You clench down hard on Vris’s finger, telling yourself that it’s because you want to cut the circulation off of her finger if you can, but maybe it’s just because you want to suck her in deeper, deeper, so you can feel more of that blue fire of her touch--

You can’t decide if she’s appeasing you or retaliating against you when she shoves yet another finger, roughly, into your nook.  

You blindly fumble with your hands, reaching down with the intention of grasping your aching bulge, and for one gratifying second your cold hand wraps around the heated flesh, but then Vris rips her hand out of you and slaps your hand away, and you’re not sure if the blinding stars you see before your eyes are from the sting of her harsh slap or the sudden aggravating loss in your nook.  It takes every ounce of your control not to buck your hips forward like some desperate tool.

Thankfully, her hand returns to your nether regions, and this time she inserts three fingers with equal assertion and dominance, and starts scissoring and thrusting before you have time to draw breath--

You know better than to grasp your weeping bulge again, so you find the next best option, and yank at Vriska’s asymmetrical horns, rubbing the junction between horn and scalp with furious zeal, as if you were trying to light her head on fire with the friction of your fast fingertips alone.  She moans, and with the hand that’s not in your nook, you see her reach down and rub her own protrusion through the cloth of her uniform pants--but she doesn’t take off her clothes, not even a single button is out of place on her body, it makes you so mad--

→ BE TAVROS NITRAM

Her fingers continue to breach you, slow and sultry, and she uses such delicate strokes that you don’t feel any pain at all--not physical, at least, because your bloodpusher is tearing itself apart excruciatingly and knitting itself together and breaking again.  And all you feel is pleasure--again, only physically, and your bulge is at full mast, and her purple eyes, so hauntingly the same hue as Gamzee’s but yet so different--are watching it with undeniably hungry interest.  The dozens of lowbloods around you continue to sleep, oblivious as corpses, though pained moans escape some of their lips.  You swallow the practically nonexistent saliva in your mouth to clamp down the moans of undesirable, damning bliss radiating from your core.  

As she begins to thrust her fingers in and out of your wet opening at a lovingly slow speed, you think that she's doing this to torture you with whatever she thinks you and Gamzee might share.  But when she reaches into her own pants and starts stroking her purple-tinted bulge at the same slow pace, you wonder if she's acting out of her own forbidden desires, instead.

Why do you care?  This is this still rape.  For the second time in a week, too.  What happened to your crippled body being undesirable?  Both times so different, but despite of the lack of pain (or perhaps because of it, because it gives your thinkpan enough room to wander and imagine), this time is so much, so much, so much worse (and better).

Your flowing bronze tears blur your eyes, but not your vision of Gamzee’s face.

At the peak of your pleasure (pain), she stops, and withdraws her fingers, which are slick with bronze from within you.  You are panting from the sensations as she abruptly stands up, looming over you, and starts stroking herself at the furious, hateful pace you would expect from rape.  

She comes in silence, splattering purple genetic material all over your shirt.  

If you expected her to yell at you, mock you, scream at you, beat you--then all of your expectations are not met.  She turns away from you without another word and sweeps from the tent, leaving your bulge still pleading for attention, your empty nook leaking out onto the floor, and your bare legs spread shamefully apart, with you unable to close them.

You don't know how you do it, but you finally muster up the strength to haul yourself up, wipe away the sticky purple liquid on your shirt, and pull up Gamzee’s polka-dotted pants.  Amazingly, they remained unsoiled throughout the entire affair, and you are ridiculously grateful as you feel the fabric in between your fingers.

It takes you a whole hour just to do just that.  

You don't touch your bulge, not even the slightest graze or brush.  You can't even look at it.  

It takes you another ten minutes to crawl back to the space next to Xefros.  You lie there for the entire day, but you don't sleep for even a second.  

When evening comes, Xefros will ask you how you slept.

“Just, a bad dream,” you will say, and he will agree, but he doesn't understand.

→ BE ERIDAN AMPORA

The thrusts of Vris’s fingers are so furious, it’s like she's trying to rip the pleasure straight out of your nook, and maybe your soul along with it, and in those shattering moments, you wouldn't even mind if she actually did.  You’re digging your nails into her scalp and both of you are moaning, your sweat mingling--

“Oh my gog, Vvris, wwhere’s the bucket, I’m, I'm gonna, I’m--”

And then.

It.

Stops.  

She withdraws her hand from inside you and forcefully pries your fingers out of her hair.  “Ww--wwha--” you stammer incoherently.

“Well that was fun, Ampora,” she says, and you can tell she's trying to make her tone flippant even though she's panting a little hard for that to work.  Not to mention that her pants look like they're about to tear themselves apart, what with the straining organ they confine underneath.  

You look at her face, which is a little blurry without your glasses.  You're so desperate now that you don't even feel angry.  “B-but, but Vvris, you, you didn't evven--”

“I was talking about the beer,” she pants.  “Now, since you're gonna make all of us get up bright and early tomorrow to go through some more pointless exercises, I think we'd both best go to bed.  See you tomorrow, Captain!”

She turns on her heels and strides away.

“Wwait! Vvris! Get back here and finish wwhat you’vve fuckin’ started!  Shit!  Vvris!  That’s--that's an order!  I need--”

She turns back to look at you with an inscrutable expression.  “What are you gonna do?  Send me back to the Capitol?”  Her departure is just a tad too hasty, and you are left completely horny and even more confused.  

You end up stripping yourself naked (yes, even the scarf) and walking around the inside of your tent in an attempt to cool yourself off.  You don't want to touch yourself--you feel like doing so would be allowing Vris to win.  

Win what, though?  You always knew Vris was hot, it was just that kind of inherent knowledge everyone knew, but until today you'd never realized how much you gogdamn hated her.  

But you're getting mixed signals from her.  Did she leave you on the brink of completion just to fuck with you, because she hates you too?  She does seem sadistic enough to do that to a kismesis.  Or is she just using you like another one of her “toys”?

But how could that be?  You'd be stupid not to have realized how into it she was as well.  

When you sent your ex-moirail-and-flushed-crush away, you did not expect did not expect to gain caliginous complications. Fuck.  Your. Quadrants (and your life).

→ BE VRISKA SERKET

You don't even attempt to hide your obvious boner when you storm back to your tent, barking for your bunkmate to get the fuck out of there.  She doesn't protest, probably because she sees how frustrated and horny you are, and how that is a dangerous combination on Vriska Serket.  

You tear your uniform off until you are completely naked, grab a bucket, hen with an angry yell that is more like a war cry than anything, you stroke your erection so furiously that all thoughts leave your pan.  And that's just what you want.  You don't want to think.

And it almost works, too.  In record time, blue is exploding from your bulge and flooding from your nook, and you are letting out a guttural groan that you can barely recognize as yourself.  But as you ride the aftershocks of your ecstasy, you hear the name “Tavros” slip from your lips.  

You don't understand.  It had been going so well.  As you and Eridan exchanged charged banter, and you felt the triumph in your soul every time he became frustrated, or even angry.  When you shoved your fingers in his nook, you felt confident as you never had before that this was the beginning of a beautiful kismesissitude.  An admittedly handsome and violetblood army captain, suitably violent and sadistic, and with so many insecurities for you to play with!  What were you ever thinking, thinking that Toreadork could even remotely be appropriate as your hate-rival--

You wanted nothing more than to hear Eridan scream your name in loathing while he orgasmed, but there was a trick of the light--of mind--but in that moment right before he was going to explode, you looked up into his face and saw that bronzeblood instead.  

You had to stop.

Now that you've calmed down a little bit, traitorous thoughts are returning to your thinkpan, but if anything, they only reinforce your black hatred of Eridan in your mind.  

And then you think of Tavros, probably shivering and suffering and sad wherever he is right now, the exact location of which you are not sure, but certainly on the way to his demise.  He doesn't look right in that context, he's too innocent and pure--

But if you're black for Eridan then--

But no.  Hahahahahahahaha.  Vriska Serket has never red-crushed on anyone before!  Vriska Serket doesn't do flushed.  She does one-time, rough, and caliginous, that's it.  The mere notion of Vriska Serket having a matesprit is just hi-lar-i-ous--hahahahahahahaha!  Hahahahahahahaha!

You fall asleep laughing.

→ BE TAVROS NITRAM

When you are crowded into the Capitol-bound shuttle the next early evening (riding, once more, on poor Xefros’s back), everything is back to normal.  The mean clown lady shoves both you and Xefros hard when she sees you two, and the two of you topple to the ground, coughing up dirt.  She cackles.  Xefros is kind enough to help you back onto his back, even after the nasty fall.  You are amazed by his loyalty, even though the costs clearly outweigh the benefits, having any sort of alliance with you.

The clown lady is one of the three subjugglators supervising this shipment of prisoners to the Capitol (a three-day journey).  The cruelty and rage in her eyes are back, and when your eyes lock for a fraction of a second, she bares her lip menacingly at you, giving zero acknowledgement of...whatever that was, between you two, the previous day.

It's better this way.

The metal doors shut and the shuttle begins to move.

You are on your way to the Capitol.

→ BE KARKAT VANTAS

You wake up to the sound of your FUCKING PALMHUSK BUZZING LIKE A FUCKING BEE THAT NEEDS TO BE SQUASHED LIKE A ROTTEN TOMATO SO THAT IT WILL SHUT THE FUCK UP--

adiosToreador [AT] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

AT: i just woke all up and lonesome in this motherfuckin empty room  
AT: THEY TELL ME MY MIRACLE IS GONE.  
AT: tavros is gone to the motherfuckin capitol city  
AT: THIS GAMZEE MAKARA WITHOUT HIS TAVROS IS LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER WITHOUT THE DIRECTION OF HIS MESSIAHS  
AT: it don't motherfuckin  
AT: WORK THAT WAY.  
AT: i motherfuckin got my understand on now  
AT: TAVROS IS THE MESSIAH.  
AT: fuck  
AT: FUCK.  
AT: fuck  
AT: I GOTTA MOTHERFUCKIN GET HIM BACK.  
AT: gotta cull every motherfucker in my way of my tavros until there ain't a single blasphemer but our two mirthful selves standing  
AT: SITTING.  
AT: motherfucker can't walk  
AT: BUT I DON’T MOTHERFUCKIN SEE HIM, AND THIS CLOWN DOESN’T MOTHERFUCKIN KNOW WHERE TO START CULLING BITCHES.  
AT: motherfuckin  
AT: BROTHER.  
AT: my brother not in blood but in the spirit of the messiahs themselves  
AT: TAVROS UP AND CALLED YOU A SHOUTY MOTHERFUCKER ONCE.  
AT: said the shouty motherfucker’s miraculous name was karkat  
AT: TAVROS UP AND BELIEVED IN YOU.  
AT: you gotta tell me what to do.  
AT: UP AND GIVE A MOTHERFUCKER SOME OF THE DIRECTION THAT HE’S LOST.  
AT: please  
AT: PLEASE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this chapter didn't feel too pointless! Had to check in with Vriska and Eridan hehe. I love/hate these two highbloods. So fuckin' dramaaaaaaaaatic. (ALSO ERIDAN'S WW'S ARE A BITCH TO TYPE).


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOOOOO sorry for the long wait my friends! I ran into the lusus of all writing blocks and I swear that fat bitch is worse than fucking Glygolyb LOL. I'll try not to take so long in the future!
> 
> Special special thanks to my amazinggggg beta SageMasterofSass! https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/ What would I do without them? Post crap chapters, that's what. Well. Crappier. 
> 
> My new friend inheritedpancakes made some awesome art of our favorite violetblood captain--go check it out! https://inheritedpancakes.tumblr.com/post/169309923823/a-captain-ampora-for-a2cidentalonomatopoeia-i Thank you so much for making art for this fic, you have no idea how much it means to me! 
> 
> Jegus, I'm meeting so many insanely talented people through writing this fic. Better step up my game before I make (more of) a fool of myself!
> 
> I created a new tumblr blog for this fic for my tumblr friends out there! You can ask me (or any of the characters) questions or give comments if you'd like, or just generally fuck around as people are apt to do on tumblr. :P @icanfeelyouacrosstheline

Chapter 15

→ BE GAMZEE MAKARA

You had woken up in this room--which appears to be a sparsely-furnished respiteblock, with a load gaper stall off to one side, a mat on the floor for resting, and a small recuperacoon--and you had a massive headache. You couldn’t immediately recall what had happened, instead blinking stupidly at your unfamiliar surroundings. 

But then you’d realized that you were chillingly, hauntingly alone. 

You’d looked down at yourself and realized that you were sitting in your little miracle’s four-wheel device. But he was nowhere to be seen. 

Then it all came rushing back to you, and it felt like you were being dunked face-first into a freezing sea of memories--Chahut and the Soleil twins in the hovercraft, the sscare when Chahut fired the gun, Fishsis screaming, Tavros being dragged off the cot and his face bleeding from where Chahut had slapped him, the injection of sopor in your neck, and everything going woozy and dark…

They must have pushed your unconscious ass here in his four-wheel device.

A tsunami-like surge of panic, sadness, and rage, had risen up within you, and you rushed to the metal door of the respiteblock, only to discover that it was locked. You pushed, pulled, yelled, even tried kicking it open, but to no avail. Then your thinksponge sort of blurred everything out, and by the time you left your little fit of rage, there were angry claw marks on all four walls and the floor of the room, the mat had been torn into several pieces, and the recuperacoon had been tipped over and was oozing sopor slime all over the floor.

Spent, you sat back down on Tavros’s four-wheel device, only to jump when someone started talking.

“Good evening, Makara.”

“SOLEIL!” you’d exclaimed, immediately whipping your head around for the source of the voice, but there was no one else around you. “Where the fuck are your mutated motherfuckin carcasses? COME THE FUCK OUT AND PLAY--”

“We see that even after an entire day unconscious, you have not expelled the savage tendencies from your system,” the rather monotonous voice had replied. You couldn’t tell which twin had been talking because they sound too similar. Who knows, maybe they were actually talking in unison. 

“Why the MOTHERFUCK CAN I HEAR YOU AND NOT SEE YOUR MOTHERFUCKING SELVES?” you’d demanded.

“We’re speaking to you via a loudspeaker that’s connected directly to this respiteblock. We didn’t want to risk being in your close vicinity after yesterday’s incident, in case you still felt violent--which you obviously do.”

“Don’t get motherfucking smart with me, you--wait, what? Motherfucking yesterday? I thought the--”

“Yes, you’ve been unconscious for an entire day.”

Which meant Tavros had been without you, unprotected, for an entire day--

“WHERE’S TAVROS?”

There had been a slight pause. “Tavros? Oh, Makara means the lowblood. Ha ha ha.” They sounded so dead even when laughing. “He’s with Chahut.”

“CHAHUT? WHERE IS THAT MOTHERFUCKING BITCH?”

“She just left about an hour ago, with this evening’s shipment of prisoners to the Capitol. She told us to tell you not to worry, and that she’ll, quote unquote, ‘take good care of the pretty little boy.’”

It had taken you a moment to put it all together in your thinkpan, merely because of your utter disbelief and horror. You’d collapsed, suddenly boneless, back into Tavros’s four-wheel device, and because the brakes weren’t on you rolled backward and hit the wall. You couldn't even bring yourself to care. “Chahut is with Tavros. They’re on a shipment to the motherfucking Capitol. THAT MOTHERFUCKER. And we’re still in motherfucking Lotam?”

“Indeed.”

“She took him to the Capitol without me. SHE MOTHERFUCKING TOOK HIM TO THE CAPITOL WITHOUT THIS MOTHERFUCKER. What is she gonna do to him. WHAT IS THE MOTHERFUCKING CAPITOL GOING TO DO TO HIM?”

“They had to leave today to make it in time for his trial, which is only five days away. It takes three days just to get from here to the Capitol. Besides, Makara, he isn’t your property. He became the Capitol’s official property the moment he was taken prisoner. Although we thank you for keeping custody of him.”

“DON’T GIVE ME THAT MOTHERFUCKING SHIT about POSSESSION by any motherfucking body when you talk--”

“But we’re not giving you motherfucking shit of any kind. We are simply stating facts.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Then we gotta get out of this mirthless place and head for the Capitol as motherfucking soon as possible so I can catch up with those HERETIC BITCH ASSES I NEED TO CULL--”

“But Makara,” whichever one of the Soleils had said, “you're not going to the Capitol.”

This had immediately given you pause. “What bullshit are you spouting from your speakbox now?”

“Barzum and I only came to Lotam to deliver instructions to you.” So it was Baizli speaking. “The two of us are returning to the Capitol with the next shipment of prisoners two days from now. You, however, will stay and work as a guard for two weeks, and then you will return to your platoon.”

“Return to the--but, but I was motherfucking discharged--”

“No, you were sent here for disciplinary action,” Baizli--or was it Barzum now?--had interrupted. “You should be very honored. The Empress herself reviewed your case and decided that you are too valuable on the battlefield to be discharged for a mere...slip-up in control.”

“BUT I DON’T MOTHERFUCKING GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THE UNMIRACULOUS WHIMSIES THAT GET THEIR HAPPENIN’ ON AT THE MOTHERFUCKING FRONT LINE--”

“Baizli, have we relayed everything we needed to say to Makara?” They had stopped even acknowledging you.

“THE TWO OF YOU BLASTED MUTANT BROTHERS SHOULD PUT ON YOUR MOTHERFUCKING FACE AND COME SEE ME SO I CAN DRAIN THE PURPLE JELLY FROM THE--”

“I believe so. Oh, except for that one thing.”

“--DON’T MOTHERFUCKING CARE WHAT THE BITCH ON THE ALTERNIAN THRONE SAYS THIS MOTHERFUCKER SHOULD DO, I’M GOING TO THE MOTHERFUCKING CAPITOL--”

“Ah yes, that thing. Makara, we will come retrieve you in an hour so that you may start your work duties here. Hopefully you will have learned to control yourself like a proper highblood troll by then.”

“--I MADE HIM A MOTHERFUCKING PROMISE--”

“But since we worry that that is a biological impossibility for you, you will notice that we have placed a device upon your neck. The remote to activate it is with us. It’s more precautionary than anything, since we have high hopes that you will learn to behave yourself within one hour, but if you attempt to act out of line once again and our personal safety becomes a concern, we will not hesitate to activate the collar and it will inject you with another dose of sopor. We sincerely don’t have anything against you personally, but as you seem to have little regard for highblood life you have forced our hand.”

“--HOOOOOOOOOOOONK--”

“See you in an hour, Makara. Messiahs bless your soul.” If there’s one thing you can say about the Soleil twins, it’s that underneath their creepy apathy, they are deeply religious; you’re not exactly sure how they interpret the purpleblood scripture, but their devotion is rather admirable. One of the reasons you never had much of a problem with them before is because, unlike the other subjugglators, they never concerned themselves with petty things like pride or rivalry or self-image. 

You don’t know how long you sat there honking in desperation, even after the loudspeaker crackled into silence, but eventually you processed what they told you and your hand flew up to your neck. Your fingers hit a metal and plastic ring that you had not noticed before. It was then that, completely broken and rageful and clueless for WHAT TO MOTHERFUCKING DO, you fumbled around in your pocket and found, to your immense relief, that Tavros’s palmhusk was still there. 

→ BE KARKAT VANTAS

Whatever sleep that is still clinging to your eyes immediately disintegrates when you read the abominable text now gracing your palmhusk screen. Everyone else, except Nepeta, who is keeping watch, is still asleep, even though it’s already dark outside. The feline girl looks at you with a mixture of curiosity and concern as you stare at the messages from adiosToreador. It’s disconcerting to see this heinous quirk appear in familiar brown font. 

But the content is more disturbing than the quirk, and when Tavros said the subjugglator might be pestering you, the last thing you expected was for said highblood to come begging you for help. Part of you still thinks this is all a trick, and the fact that a FUCKING PURPLEBLOOD is at the other end of your Pesterchum chat makes you want to burn your palmhusk and then burn the ashes. And your last encounter with this guy was not particularly pleasant, to say the least.

But you cannot dismiss the fact that your friend’s life may be on the line here, and the purpleblood might be the one holding the ropes.

And the purpleblood said please. A highblood actually said please to you, a fucking mutant. 

What the actual fuck.

CG: I AM THE “SHOUTY MOTHERFUCKER KARKAT”. THAT SORRY FUCKER IS ME.  
CG: AND I DON’T TRUST YOU FOR A SINGLE GOGDAMNED SECOND, YOU PSYCHOTIC SICKBLOOD ABOMINATION OF TROLLKIND.  
CG: OH WAIT, I FORGOT THAT ALL SICKBLOODS ARE ABOMINATIONS OF TROLLKIND, AND ALSO THE CAUSE OF ALL MY FUCKING PROBLEMS. CONGRATULATIONS, THAT MEANS THAT YOU ARE A PSYCHOTIC FUCKASS EVEN WORSE THAN A FUCKING ABOMINATION OF OUR ENTIRE SPECIES.  
CG: DON’T THINK I’VE FORGOTTEN THAT YOU’RE A FUCKING SUBJUGGLATOR. MY HEAD ISN’T FULL OF HOOFBEAST GAS LIKE THAT NITRAM AIRHEAD. I KNOW THE KIND OF SHIT YOU DO TO PEOPLE LIKE ME.  
CG: SO TELL ME WHY I SHOULD WASTE MY PRECIOUS TIME HUMORING YOUR DISGUSTING ASS, WHEN I KNOW FULL WELL THAT A PURPLEBLOOD WOULD NEVER STOOP SO LOW AS ASK A LOWBLOOD FOR HELP.

The response comes much faster than you expected.

AT: never ain’t right because this motherfucker’s blood is purple as jelly and i already did ask you for help.  
AT: AND I’M STILL MOTHERFUCKIN WAITING FOR YOUR MOTHERFUCKIN DELIVERY.  
AT: and i know you ain’t just a lowblood, brother.  
AT: THE BLOOD THAT YOUR WICKED BLOODPUSHER GETS ITS PUMP ON FOR IN THAT LITTLE BODY OF YOURS IS ONE FINE SHADE OF MOTHERFUCKIN CHERRY.

Said bloodpusher constricts with fear as you read these words.

But then the purpleblood writes more. 

AT: but there's only one kind of blood that really matters to this clown.  
AT: AND THAT’S THE MOTHERFUCKIN BRONZE ELIXIR THAT GETS IT PUMPIN ON IN TAVBROS’ BODY  
AT: that's the only part of the rainbow that can't be used as motherfuckin paint.  
AT: NOT BY MOTHERFUCKIN ME OR BY ANOTHER OTHER BITCH ASS MOTHERFUCKER.  
AT: or i will all up and cull any bitch higher than fuchsia and lower than rust.  
AT: EVEN MY OWN MOTHERFUCKIN PURPLE AIN’T NO DIFFERENT FROM THE REST OF THE MOTHERFUCKIN HEMOSPECTRUM.

It’s nice to know that maybe he only wants to make paint out of you because he's psychotic as fuck, and not because you're a mutant.

CG: WELL FUCK ME, AM I SUPPOSED TO BE GRATEFUL THAT I’M JUST AS EXPENDABLE AS THE REST OF OUR RACE, YOU SICK FUCK?

AT: NAH, MOTHERFUCKER AIN’T EXPENDABLE LIKE THE REST OF THEM MOTHERFUCKIN BITCHES.  
AT: i told ya, we’re brothers in the messiahs’ motherfuckin name.  
AT: CAUSE TAVBRO SAW MORE WORTH IN YOUR LIFE THAN HIS MOTHERFUCKIN MIRACULOUS OWN.  
AT: he'd hurt for you and die for you.  
AT: SO YOU, BROTHER, WILL CONTINUE YOUR MOTHERFUCKIN EXISTENCE SO HIS BLOODPUSHER DOESN’T UP AND BLEED ITSELF THAT MIRACULOUS COLOR FOR YOU.

You don't understand what his deal is with Tavros, but he's right about Tavros sacrificing himself for you, and it makes you swallow guiltily. And as disturbing as it might be, you can't deny that you have common interests in keeping that airhead safe. If the purpleblood’s not lying, that is. But you can't really see why he would go to such lengths as to message you like this if he was just fucking around. 

CG: WELL, GREAT THEN, GLAD TO KNOW THAT THE CONTINUATION OF MY WRETCHED EXISTENCE HAS SOME FUCKING USE AFTER ALL. CONTINUING TO EXIST IS INCIDENTALLY THE ONE FUCKING THING I HAVE CONSISTENTLY NOT FAILED AT.  
CG: BUT THAT MEANS TAVROS NEEDS TO UPHOLD HIS END OF THE DEAL AND KEEP HIS SKINNY ASS ALIVE.  
CG: SO WHY DON’T YOU KINDLY INFORM ME IN THE LEAST CONVOLUTED WAY POSSIBLE, WHICH I AM AWARE IS PRETTY FUCKING DIFFICULT FOR THE LIKES OF YOU, WHAT THE FLYING FUCK IS GOING ON?

AT: BROTHER WANTS TO KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON?  
AT: tavros  
AT: IS  
AT: motherfuckin  
AT: BUSY

CG: WHAT?

AT: keep my motherfuckin handheld device  
AT: HE MOTHERFUCKIN SAID TO ME  
AT: in case i’m too busy to tell my miracle friends what's got its happen on  
AT: HE MOTHERFUCKIN SAID  
AT: motherfuckin just in case  
AT: AND I MOTHERFUCKIN LIED TO HIM.  
AT: this clown keeps making him motherfuckin promises  
AT: AND BREAKING THEM LIKE I BROKE THAT MOTHERFUCKIN LOWBLOOD BLUEBLOOD’S HORN.  
AT: i told him not to get his worry on, i said, full of motherfuckin free time is what he'll all up and be.  
AT: AND MOTHERFUCKIN NOW  
AT: now  
AT: HE’S SO MOTHERFUCKIN BUSY  
AT: working so fast I don’t motherfuckin got my knowledge on for what kind of practice he’s running  
AT: OR MOTHERFUCKIN WHERE  
AT: he’s running his business.  
AT: HONK.

CG: WAIT.

AT: hooonk.

CG: DUDE, HOLD THE FUCK UP.

AT: HOOOOOONK.

CG: GAMZEE.

AT: :o?

You didn't want to use his name, because somehow that makes the conversation seem more personal and that is the last thing you want, but you could see that if you didn't do something about it soon, the dude was going to run on in endless circles of stupid honking (who even honks? sheesh) and into unsalvageable territory--well, less salvageable. You're not sure how much of this nutcase is still salvageable at all.

CG: WHY ARE YOU TYPING LIKE THAT?

AT: :o?  
AT: this?  
AT: THAT’S A MOTHERFUCKIN FACE WITH A QUESTION MARK FOR A MOTHERFUCKIN MOUTH  
AT: because you're making this clown get his confuse on.

CG: NO, NOT THE FUCKING EMOTICON YOU STUPID PIECE OF CRAP.  
CG: I’M TALKING ABOUT YOUR QUIRK.  
CG: I REMEMBER IT LOOKED DIFFERENT WHEN WE WERE PESTERING TAVROS THE OTHER DAY.

AT: OH YOU TALKIN ABOUT THE MOTHERFUCKIN WAY THIS CLOWN GETS HIS MOTHERFUCKIN TYPING ON.  
AT: my quirk changes  
AT: WHEN I AIN’T BEING MY MOTHERFUCKIN CHILL SELF.  
AT: when i got them motherfuckin harshwhimsies and shit  
AT: ALL UP AND PUNISHING MY PAN.  
AT: when this motherfucker is up and being his agitated self that ain’t chill at all  
AT: AND THE MOTHERFUCKIN MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS SCREAM ALL KINDS OF MOTHERFUCKIN DISSONANCE  
AT: i up  
AT: AND  
AT: i  
AT: MOTHER  
AT: fuckin  
AT: TALK  
AT: like  
AT: THIS.

You can hear the gradual unhingement happening here. 

CG: LOOK, DUDE, I DON’T LIKE YOU, BUT YOU HAVE TO CALM THE FUCK DOWN.  
CG: I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT’S GOING ON BUT I KNOW YOU SURE AS FUCKING HELL CAN’T DO JACK SHIT IF ALL YOU’RE GOING TO DO IS SCREECH AND THEN WHISPER LIKE SOME BIPOLAR FUCKASS.  
CG: WAIT I ALREADY KNOW A BIPOLAR FUCKASS  
CG: SHIT THAT’S NOT THE POINT.  
CG: SO STOP FREAKING THE FUCK OUT AND EXPLAIN TO ME WHAT’S GOING ON.  
CG: BECAUSE YOU FREAKING THE FUCK OUT IS MAKING ME FREAK THE FUCK OUT AND IF I’M FREAKED THE FUCK OUT THEN I CAN’T HELP STOP YOU FROM CONTINUING TO FREAK THE FUCK OUT AND INADVERTENTLY CAUSING THE FUCKING APOCALYPSE BECAUSE OF YOUR EMOTIONAL INCAPABILITY NOT TO HAVE A TANTRUM.

There is a long pause and you consider the possibility that your string of words might have broken his thinkpan. 

AT: ThIs MoThErFuCkEr AiN’t GoT hIs WhOle WiCkEd UnDeRsTaNd On  
FoR wHaT a BrOtHeR iS uP aNd TrYiNg To SaY.  
AT: bUt It DoEs MoThErFuCkIn SeEm LiKe YoU wAnT mE tO gEt My ChIlL gOiNg On AnD tYpE lIkE tHiS.  
AT: iT fEeLs AlL mOtHeRfUcKiN uNnAtUrAl WhEn I aIn’T aLl Up AnD bEiNg My CaLm MoThErFuCkIn SeLf.  
AT: BuT tHiS mOtHeRfUcKeR wIlL mOtHeRfUcKiN tRy If ChIlL iS tHe MiRaCuLoUs DiReCtIoN TaVbRo’S mIrAcUlOuS rEdBlOoD bRoThEr ThiNkS tHiS cLoWn ShOuLd Be Up AnD tAkInG.

Fuck, why did you do this? Now you’re giving yourself a migraine just trying to read his words. And let’s not mention actually comprehending them, because this purpleblood fuckass sure likes to play gymnastics with his phraseology. Fucking fantastic. 

CG: SERIOUSLY? MY LOOKSTUBS ARE HEMORRHAGING MUTANT TEARS ALL OVER MY FUCKING FACE JUST FROM TRYING TO READ THAT SHIT YOU CALL A QUIRK.  
CG: FUCK. WHATEVER. I’LL LET YOU PASS THIS TIME IN HOPES THAT AFTER TODAY, I WILL NEVER EVER HAVE TO TALK TO YOU AGAIN.  
CG: JUST TRY TO KEEP CALM AND NOT FLIP SHIT IN MY FACE WHILE I TRY TO UNDERSTAND WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING.

AT: LeT tHiS mOThErFuCkEr TrY hIs BeSt To HeLp YoU gEt YoUr UndErStAnD oN.  
AT: tHeY wEnT aNd ToOk TaVrOs To ThE mOThErFuCkIn CaPiToL wItHoUt Me.  
AT: AnD nOw ThOsE bLaSpHeMoUs TrAiToRs HaVe GoT mY aSs LoCkEd Up In A rOoM.

CG: WAIT. SO WHERE EXACTLY ARE YOU RIGHT NOW? I THOUGHT YOU AND TAVROS WERE GOING TO THE CAPITOL TOGETHER.  
CG: WHO ARE “THOSE BLASPHEMOUS TRAITORS”? AND WHY WOULD ANYONE LOCK YOU UP? YOU’RE A HIGHBLOOD.

AT: I’m In ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN cItY oF lOtAm.  
AT: ExCePt ThIs AiN’t ReAlLy A cItY.  
AT: iT’s A rEaLlY mOtHeRfUcKiN bIg CaMp FoR aLl ThEm ShItBlOoDeD pRiSoNeRs FrOm ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN lOw SiDe.  
AT: Me AnD tAvBrO gOt HeRe YeStErDaY. tHiS pLaCe WaS oNlY sUpPoSeD tO bE oUr PlAcE oF mOtHeRfUcKiN TrAnSiT.  
AT: bUt ThEn ThoSe MoThErFuCkIn SuBjUgGlAtOrS cAmE iN aNd TrIeD tO tAkE tAvRoS aWaY.  
AT: you shoulda seen the way she motherfuckin looked up at him.  
AT: THE WAY SHE POINTED A GUN AT HIS MIRACLE HEAD.  
AT: the way she motherfuckin hit him.  
AT: AND THEY DRAGGED HIM AWAY EVEN THOUGH I GAVE THEM THE MOTHERFUCKIN KNOW THAT THAT LOWBLOOD MIRACLE AIN’T GOT HIS MOTHERFUCKIN WALK ON.  
AT: you shoulda seen his face when he tried to say goodbye to me.

CG: GAMZEE. GAMZEE. CALM THE FUCK DOWN.

This is really fucking hard. 

And you don't just mean the part where you have to actually communicate with a subjugglator like it's completely normal. No, it's the fact that you have to hear, secondhand, about what your friend is going through, while you are miles away and completely unable to do a single fucking thing.

And it makes you angry beyond belief that this Gamzee--who is a highblood enemy here, don't forget that--is coming to you for solace, when he's barely known Tavros for a few weeks and you've known Tavros for two sweeps. You don't want to be the one doing damage control here--you want to be the one being damage controlled.

But the worst part is that you can hear the genuine dismay and despair in his words, and it's really fucking disheartening to witness a purpleblood--a member of the caste seen as untouchable, invincible--so lost and hopeless. 

CG: I KNOW IT’S HORRIBLE. HOW THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I FEEL? TAVROS IS MY FRIEND.  
CG: BUT YOU’RE NOT DOING YOURSELF OR ME OR HIM ANY FUCKING FAVORS IF YOU KEEP FLYING OFF THE HANDLE AT THE SLIGHTEST MENTION OF HIS NAME.

There’s another slight pause before he answers.

AT: I mOtHeRfUcKiN aPoLoGiZe, BrOtHeR.  
AT: yOu ToLd Me To KeEp My MoThErFuCkIn ChIlL aNd I mOtHeRfUcKiN lOsT iT.  
AT: iT’s JuSt MoThErFuCkIn HaRd, MaN.  
AT: tAvRoS uP aNd MaDe My BlOoDpUshEr PuMp ALl SoRtSa SiCk BeAtS aNd WiLd RhYtHmS wHeN hE wAs Up AnD aRoUnD tHiS mOtHeRfUcKeR.  
AT: aNd NoW tHaT hE aIn’T hErE  
AT: iT’s LiKe My BlOoDpUsHeR dOeSn’T uP aNd ReMeMbEr HoW tO bEaT aNyMoRe.  
AT: LiKe AlL tHe CoLd PuRpLe BlOoD uNdEr ThIs MoThErFuCkEr’S sKiN hAs Up AnD fRoZeN.  
AT: yA dIg?

Actually, you don't dig, because while you were admittedly fond of Tavros, the only time his presence made your bloodpusher pump any differently was when his timidness breached the limits of your sanity. You suddenly feel uncomfortable.

And you can't understand this need you feel to comfort Gamzee--it's as if you were biologically tuned to console him. But that doesn't mean you don't still hate and suspect him, and it doesn't negate the fact that you also have no fucking idea what would be appropriate to even say.

So you settle for

CG: YEAH, THAT’S WHAT TENDS TO HAPPEN WHEN YOU LOSE A LOVED ONE.

This time is the longest pause yet before he types up his reply, and for a while you wonder if you'd said something wrong. But then he finally types back

AT: YeAh, It MoThErFuCkIn SeEmS tHaT wAy.

You feel like something important just happened, but you can't put your finger on what it is. You decide to file this away for later since there’s more pressing shit going on here. 

CG: ALL RIGHT, KEEP GOING. SO THE TWO OF YOU GOT TO LOTAM YESTERDAY. WHY THE FUCK WERE THERE SUBJUGGLATORS THERE AND WHAT IN THE BULGELICKING NAME OF JEGUS HAPPENED SINCE THEN?

AT: ThErE aRe AlWaYs MoTheRfUcKiN sUbJuGgLaToRs In LoTaM, bRo.  
AT: It’S a SpEcIaL pLaCe CaUsE aLl Of The GuArDs ArE sUbJuGgLaToRs In LoTaM.  


CG: OH JEGUS FUCK.

AT: It’S a PlAcE wHeRe BaD dReAmS aRe ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN rEqUiReMeNt.  
AT: AnD aIn’T nO oNe GoT tHeIr MoThErFuCkIn ExPeCtAtTiOn On FoR tHe LoWbLoOdS uNdEr InCaRcErAtIoN hErE tO Be Up AnD aLl MiRaCuLoUs iN tHeIr ThInKpAnS aFtEr A tRiP tO tHiS pLaCe.

Your bloodpusher sinks. 

CG: AND THIS IS THE PLACE WHERE THEY BROUGHT TAVROS?  
CG: THERE’S NO WAY THE KID WILL SURVIVE THAT. HE’S JUST A FUCKING KID. THERE’S JUST  
CG: FUCK

AT: ThAt AiN’t ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN pRoBlEm, BrOtHeR.  
AT: tAv Is StRoNgEr In HiS wIcKeD pAn ThAn AnY mOtHeRfUcKeR tHiS cLoWn HaS eVeR mEt.

CG: BUT

AT: He’S aLrEaDy GoNe DoWn ThE wOrSt JoUrNeY wItH tHiS mOthErFuCkEr HeRe AnD hE’S sTiLl ThE sAmE mIrAcUlOuS tAvRoS.  
AT: BuT taV dOn’T dEsErVe ThAt KiNd Of WiCkEd TrEaTmEnT.  
AT: tHe OnLy MoThErFuCkIn ThInG hE dEsErVeS iS MoThErFuCkIn MiRaClEs.  
AT: MiRaClEs LiKe GeTtInG hIs WalKiNg AnD rUnNiNg On AnD FlYiNg WiTh SpArKlY bRoWn WiNgS aNd ShIt. ThAt ShIt MaKeS hIm BiTcHtItS hApPy.

CG: THAT IS ALARMINGLY SPECIFIC.

AT: ThAt’S wHy ThIs MoThErFuCkEr WaS rEaLlY gEtTiNg HiS wOrRy On AbOuT cOmInG tO lOtAm.

CG: WELL NO SHIT

AT: BuT tHiS mOtHeRfUcKeR tHoUgHt, It’Ll AlL bE mOtHeRfUcKiN cHiLl, ThIs PuRpLeBlOoD mOtHeRfUckEr CaN uP aNd KeEp HiM sAfE fRoM aLl ThE OtHeR pUrPlEbLoOd MoThErFuCkErS hErE aNd ThEiR uNmIrAcUlOuS hArShWhImSiEs.  
AT: bUt WhEn We GoT tO mOtHeRfUcKiN lOtAm, It WeReN’T jUsT aNy OtHeR pUrPlEbLoOdEd MoThErFuCkEr wHo Up AnD cAmE tO gEt ThEiR dIrTy GeRmS aLl OvEr My MiRaClE.  
AT: iT wAs MoThErFuCkIn ChAhUt AnD BaRzUm AnD BaIzLi.

CG: WHOA WHOA WHOA HOLD UP.  
CG: WHO THE FUCK ARE CHAHUT AND BARZUM AND BAIZLI AND WHAT THE FUCK DO THEY HAVE TO DO WITH THIS FUCKFEST?

AT: ThOsE mOtHeRfUcKeRs ArE sUbJuGgLaToRs I kNeW bAcK iN tHe CiTy BeFoRe ThE wAr.

CG: ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS.  
CG: YOU DRAGGED YOUR OLD FRIENDS INTO THIS AND NOW TAVROS IS PAYING FOR IT?

AT: they ain't my motherfuckin friends.  
AT: THEY WEREN’T EVER MY MOTHERFUCKIN FRIENDS.  
AT: they always had their dislike on for this makara because of his mirthful miracles  
AT: AND BECAUSE OF HIS MOTHERFUCKIN SUPERIOR CHUCKLEVOODOOS  
AT: and because of his superior motherfuckin ancestry  
AT: BUT THIS MAKARA  
AT: never really lost his motherfuckin chill over those motherfuckers  
AT: UNTIL MOTHERFUCKIN CHAHUT MAENAD PUT HER DIRTY HANDS ON MY MIRACLE AND MOTHERFUCKIN HURT HIM.  
AT: anyone who up and looks at tavros all up with hatred in their lookstubs  
AT: IS MOTHERFUCKIN DEAD TO ME  
AT: because the messiahs need to deliver unto their blasphemous selves  
AT: THE MOST MIRTHLESS OF PUNISHMENTS.

You are trying to figure out what to even say to pacify him again, but he surprises you.

AT: SoRrY, kArKaT.

You try not to think too much about the small twinge of inexplicable relief you feel when he returns to normal--well, as normal as this guy can get, anyway. And the weird flutter in your stomach when he uses your name. You must be hungry, that’s all. You just woke up, after all.

AT: tHiS mOtHeRfUcKeR lOsT hIs MoThErFuCkIn ChIlL aGaIn.  
AT: I mOtHeRfUcKiN sWeAr I’m TrYiNg, BrOtHeR.

CG: WHATEVER. IT’S FINE.  
CG: JUST KEEP GOING.

AT: aLl RiGhT mAn.  
AT: So ChAhUt AnD bArZuM aNd BaIzLi ShOwEd ThEmSeLvEs Up AnD cHaHuT sTaRtEd GeTtIn HeR mOtHeRfUcKiN tAlK oN fOr HoW i’Ve BeEn EmBaRaSsInG tHe NaMe Of OuR pUrPlEbLoOd CaStE oR sOmE sHiT lIkE tHaT.  
AT: aS iF tHaT bItCh CoUlD eVeR gEt HeR uNdErStAnD oN fOr DoInG rIgHt Or WrOnG bY oUr WiCkEd PuRpLe BlOoD.  
AT: bUt ThEn ChAhUt GoT hEr NoTiCe On FoR mY lItTlE mIrAcLe BeInG aLl QuIeT iN tHe CoRnEr.  
AT: AnD i CoUlD sEe In HeR mOtHeRfUcKiN eYeS tHaT sHe HaD hEr MoThErFuCkIn InTeReSt On FoR tAv.  
AT: So I tRiEd To StOp It.  
AT: BuT tHeN bArZuM aNd BaIzLi GoT tHeIr SnEaKy HaNdS oN tHiS mOtHeRfUcKeR wHeN i WaSn’T pAyInG aTtEnTiOn.  
AT: ThOsE tWo WoRk ReAl QuIeT. aNd ThIs MoThErFuCkEr CoUlD cUlL tHeIr AsSeS aNy MoThErFuCkIn DaY bUt It’S rEaL mOtHeRfUcKiN cHaLlEnGiNg WhEn ThEy’Re ToGeThEr.  
AT: ThEy’Re MoThErFuCkIn TwInS, yOu SeE.

CG: WAIT. TWINS?  
CG: ISN’T THAT A FUCKING MUTATION?

AT: It MoThErFuCkIn Is, BrO.  
AT: KiNdA lIkE yOu, NoW tHaT i GoT mY tHiNkInG oN aBoUt It.  
AT: BuT tHeIrS iS a MuTaTiOn Of ThE lEsS mIrAcUlOuS kInD.  
AT: DaMn ThIs MoThErFuCkEr HaS gOt HiS dIsLiKe On FoR tHoSe TwO.

You can’t help but feel slightly bitter--that in Alternia, purpleblood twin mutants could become subjugglators while your mutation is worth nothing but a culling and a whole fucking load of trouble.

AT: ThEy GoT tHeIr MoTheRfUckIn ReStRaInT oN mE aNd I cOuLdN’T dO sHiT wHeN cHaHuT wAs Up AnD hUrTiNg TaV.  
AT: aNd ShE fUcKiNg HuRt HiM, bRoThEr.  
AT: ShE’d MoThErFuCkIn HiT hIm EvErY tImE i TrIeD tO oPeN mY mOthErFuCkIn MoUtH tO sToP iT.  
AT: aNd TaV wAs So MoThErFuCkIn BrAvE. hE dIdN’T eVeN mAkE a FuCkInG sOuNd.  
AT: EvEn ThOuGh ThIs MoThErFuCkEr WaS rEaDy To ScReAm.

You have to stop reading for a second, because the images popping up in your head, of a cruel subjugglator abusing Tavros while he bites his tongue to keep from crying out, are too vivid. Of course Tavros would keep quiet. 

AT: AnD tHeN sHe ToOk OuT hEr MoThErFuCkIn GuN aNd FoR a MoMeNt I wAs So FuCkIn ScArEd. I tHoUgHt ShE kIlLeD hIm, KaRkAt.  
AT: BuT tHeN sHe SaId ShE cOuLdN’t CaUsE hE’s GoNnA hAvE a MoThErFuCkIn TrIaL bAcK iN tHe CiTy.  
AT: In ThE eNd ThIs MoThErFuCkEr CoUlDn’T tAkE tHeIr ShIt AnYmOrE.  
AT: sO i LeT tHoSe MoThErFuCkIn ChUcKlEvOoDoOs SiNg.

CG: A TRIAL?  
CG: A FUCKING TRIAL?

You feel the remnants of your last hopes turning to ash.

CG: THEY’RE ACTUALLY PUTTING HIM TO TRIAL?  
CG: LIKE FOR FUCKING REAL?  
CG: IS IT LIKE, ONE-HUNDRED AND FUCKING ONE PERCENT CONFIRMED THAT THEY’RE ACTUALLY GOING TO?

AT: AcCoRdInG tO cHaHuT, yEaH mAn.  
AT: AnD tHe TwInS jUsT gAvE mE tHe MoThErFuCkiN kNoW tHaT iT’s SuPpOsEd To Be FiVe DaYs FrOm NoW.

CG: BUT WHY?  
CG: I THOUGHT THAT IF EVER SOMETHING LIKE THIS HAPPENED, AT LEAST THE FAIRY BOY IS GOOD AT BEING THE WORLD’S MOST BORING FUCK SO HE’D STAY OUT OF THE FUCKING HIGHBLOOD RADAR.  
CG: BUT NOW THEY’RE PUTTING HIM TO TRIAL AND GOG KNOWS THOSE ARE JUST SICK MURDER PARTIES FOR SHITTY HIGHBLOODS, WHICH IS TO SAY ALL OF THEM.

AT: i DoN’T mOtHeRfUcKiN kNoW wHy, BrOtHeR.  
AT: i DoN’T hAvE mY mOtHeRfUcKiN uNdErStAnD oN fOr WhY aLl Of ThEsE wIcKeD bLaSpHeMeRs WaNt To HuRt A mIrAcLe LiKe TaV.

CG: CAN’T YOU DO ANYTHING TO STOP IT?  
CG: SAY THAT HE’S YOUR KISMESIS OR SOMETHING.

AT: MoThErFuCkIn WhAt.

It sounds like the shittiest idea the universe ever conceived, but for some fucking reason it’s the only idea you can think of right now. 

And what the hell, it’s so fucking stupid that it might actually work. 

CG: DON’T TELL ME YOU ALREADY HAVE YOUR BLACK QUADRANT FILLED.

AT: BuT i DoN’t MoThErFuCkIn HaTe HiM, kArKaT.  
AT: hAtReD iS tHe LaSt MoThErFuCkIn ThInG i’Ve GoT fOr HiS mIrAcLe SeLf.  
AT: AnD hAtReD iS rEqUiReD fOr A mOtHeRfUcKiN kIsMeSiSsiTuDe.

CG: HOLY FUCK THAT IS NOT EVEN THE POINT.  
CG: IT DOESN’T MATTER IF YOU HATE HIM OR IF YOU WANT TO PITY HIM ALL THE WAY TO THE MOONS.  
CG: IT’S ABOUT PUTTING ON A FUCKING ACT, YOU FUCKING IDIOT. IF THE CAPITOL ASSHOLES THINK THAT HE’S A PURPLEBLOOD’S QUADRANTMATE, THEY MIGHT GO A LITTLE TEENSY BIT EASIER ON HIM.  
CG: THEY MIGHT EVEN GIVE HIM TO YOU AS A SLAVE OR SOMETHING. WHICH IS HORRIFYING, AND THE WORST FUCKING PART IS THAT THAT WOULD BE THE BEST FUCKING SCENARIO.  
CG: I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS LITERALLY HOW SCREWED WE ARE.

AT: BuT tHiS mOtHeRfUcKeR aIn’T nEvEr ReAlLy GoT hIs MoThErFuCkIn AcTiNg On.  
AT: I dOn’T kNoW iF i CaN mOtHeRfUcKiN gEt My PrEtEnD oN fOr HaTiNg HiM.  
AT: cAn’T i TeLl ThEm ThAt He’S iN oNe Of My MoRe BeAuTiFuL qUaDrAnTs?

CG: DO YOU REALLY THINK THOSE HIGHBLOODS WANT TO HEAR ABOUT THE PRETTY SPARKLY RELATIONSHIP YOU AND TAVROS SHARE?  
CG: WHY AM I THE ONE WHO HAS TO EXPLAIN THE INTRICACIES OF HIGHBLOOD MINDSETS TO YOU?  
CG: YOUR BLACK QUADRANT IS THE ONLY ONE THAT WOULD BE REMOTELY ACCEPTABLE TO FILL WITH HIM.  
CG: IT WOULD STILL BE FROWNED UPON. BUT SINCE IT INVOLVES HATRED, IT’S NOT SO FUCKING BAD.  
CG: ASHEN IS USELESS BECAUSE THAT REQUIRES A THIRD PARTY AND WE DON’T NEED TO DRAG ANYONE ELSE INTO THIS AND DRIVE THE METAPHORICAL SCREWDRIVER EVEN FURTHER UP OUR NOOKS THAN IT ALREADY IS.  
CG: BUT TRY TELLING THE COURT THAT A FUCKING LOW SIDE SOLDIER IS IN ONE OF YOUR CONCILIATORY QUADRANTS.  
CG: THEY’LL MARK AS YOU AS A TRAITOR, AND THEN IF YOU’RE LUCKY, THEY’LL EXECUTE YOU FIRST AND THEN THEY’LL EXECUTE HIM AFTER YOU’RE DEAD.  
CG: IF YOU’RE NOT LUCKY, WHICH IS PRETTY FUCKING LIKELY CONSIDERING THE STRAIN OF ABSOLUTELY SHITTY LUCK WE’VE BEEN SUBJECTED TO AS OF LATE, THEY’LL MAKE YOU WATCH AS THEY SLOWLY TORTURE HIM AND KILL HIM.  
CG: AND THEN THEY’LL LOCK YOU UP AND MAKE YOU RELIVE THE MOMENT OVER AND OVER FOR THE REST OF MISERABLE LIFE.  
CG: I MEAN.  
CG: THAT’S ASSUMING THAT TAVROS’S DEATH WOULD REALLY AFFECT YOU AS BADLY AS YOU SEEM TO CLAIM.

adiosToreador [AT] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

 

“What the hell?” you exclaim, and you nearly throw your palmhusk across the cave in your frustration.

“What the fuck ith going on?” 

Sollux’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you turn to see that while you were occupied, all of your comrades had already gotten up. The weird blueblood and Nepeta are trying to restart the fire with the old firewood, and since it's apparently raining outside the chances of getting new firewood is pretty unlikely. Sollux and Aradia both look ready to come tear your palmhusk out of your hands to read the messages themselves, and only because of Kanaya’s urges to “let Karkat focus” are they restraining themselves. 

“Shut the fuck up, Sollux,” you snap automatically, before adding, “Tavros’s trial is in five days in the fucking Capitol. Start your stupid hacking and see if you can pick up anything about it.”

That is the extent of the attention you are going to give Sollux right now, and you turn back and stare intently at your palmhusk screen, as if the power of your gaze could make adiosToreador start trolling you again.

In retrospect, it probably wasn’t such a great idea for you to say those things to Gamzee, considering how easily triggered he apparently is. But it’s not like you were exaggerating.

Will it really make a difference if Gamzee claims to want Tavros in his black quadrant? You weren’t lying when you said that kismesissitude is the only quadrant the Capitol might be a little bit more lenient on. Before the war, inter-caste blackrom wasn’t so uncommon. Pail slaves were a common thing, but a subgroup of those sexual servants were blackrom slaves who were sold for the exclusive purpose of filling a highblood’s spade. Those relationships rarely lasted (let’s not even get started about the utter unfairness of the power dynamics and the lack of willingness on the slave’s part) and usually only served the purpose of satisfying the imperial drones. But while they lasted, they still had some value, and other highbloods were not allowed to mess with an enslaved “kismesis”. But blackrom slaves were considered “of higher quality” than normal pail slaves and were almost always olive or jade--the highest of the low castes. Purple and brown in blackrom? Unheard of.

It takes a nerve wracking five minutes, during which you stress over the possibilities that something had happened to Gamzee, or that the purpleblood’s communications with you had been intercepted by the High Side, or maybe that he had been lying to you the whole time and you had just been too stupid to realize it. But after five minutes, he finally logs back on.

adiosToreador [AT] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] 

AT: I dOn’T mOtHeRfUcKiN lIkE iT bUt  
AT: I’lL mOtHeRfUcKiN tElL tHeM i Be WaNtInG hIm FoR a MoThErFuCkIn KiSmEsIsSiTuDe.

He doesn’t make any further comment about what you said earlier, and that's just fucking dandy with you. You don't really want to think about that stuff, either.

CG: GROW THE FUCK UP. NO ONE CARES ABOUT WHAT YOU LIKE OR DON’T LIKE.

AT: TaVbRo CaReS.

You have abso-fucking-lutely no clue what to say to that. 

After a few minutes during which you don't respond, he types

AT: AlRiGhT tHeN mY cHeRryBlOoD bRoThEr.  
AT: AlL tHaT sHiT’s FoR lAtEr.  
AT: WhAt In ThE nAmE oF tHe MoThErFuCkIn MeSsIaHs Do I dO nOw?

CG: WHAT DO YOU MEAN  
CG: OH.  
CG: WAIT.  
CG: YOU SAID THEY’VE GOT YOUR SORRY ASS LOCKED UP IN LOTAM, RIGHT?  
CG: DO THEY SUSPECT YOU ALREADY?  
CG: ALSO, DIDN’T YOU SAY THAT YOU ARRIVED THERE YESTERDAY? WHERE DID YOU GET THE BRILLIANT IDEA TO NOT LET ME KNOW RIGHT AWAY WHAT WAS GOING ON? DO YOU HONESTLY THINK WE HAVE A LOT OF FUCKING TIME TO SPARE? WE’RE NOT JUST TWIDDLING OUR THUMBS LIKE DIPSHITS, YOU KNOW.

AT: I bEeN mOtHeRfUcKiN aSlEeP sInCe YeStErDaY aNd I jUsT mOtHeRfUcKiN gOt My ReTuRn On In ThE lAnD oF wAkEfUlNeSs.  
AT: I tOlD yOu I cOuLdN’t TaKe AnY mOrE oF tHaT uNmIrAcUlOuS sHiT cHaHuT wAs ThRoWiN DoWn.  
AT: So I lEt ThOsE cHuCkLeVoOdOoS sInG lIkE a MoThErFuCkIn CaNaRy.  
AT: AnD tHe MoThErFuCkIn TwInS gOt ThEiR mOtHeRfUcKiN sNeAk On Me AgAiN aNd InJeCtEd Me FuLl Of ThAt GrEeN sLiMe We CaLl SoPoR.

CG: INJECTED?

AT: StRaIgHt InTo My PuRpLe MoThErFuCkIn BlOoDsTrEaM wItH a WiCkEd NeEdLe.

CG: HOLY SHIT, ISN’T THAT STUFF STRONG AS FUCK?  
CG: IT LIKE, DOES TO YOUR THINKPAN WHAT THAT INDIGOBLOOD YOU LEFT HERE WOULD DO TO SOMEONE’S SKULL. THAT STRONG FUCKER IS THE WEIRDEST PIECE OF SHIT I’VE EVER MET AND THAT’S SAYING SOMETHING. I MEAN I’M FRIENDS WITH FUCKING NEPETA.  
CG: ANYWAY THAT’S BESIDES THE FUCKING POINT.  
CH: HOW ARE YOU NOT DEAD FROM FUCKING OVERDOSE?

AT: I gOt A hIgH tOlErAnCe FoR tHaT pArTiCuLaR sUbStAnCe.  
AT: UsEd To HaVe A mOtHeRfUcKiN aDdIcTiOn.  
AT: BaKeD iT iNtO mOtHeRfUcKiN dElIcIoUs PiEs AnD lIvEd LiKe It WaS mY mOtHeRfUcKiN bReAd AnD cIrCuSeS.

CG: WOW. SO NOT ONLY AM I TALKING TO A SUBJUGGLATOR FUCKASS, BUT I’M ALSO TALKING TO A SUBJUGGLATOR FUCKASS ADDICT.  
CG: THAT EXPLAINS A LOT.  
CG: WHATEVER. THAT’S NOT IMPORTANT. IT JUST SEEMS A LITTLE WEIRD TO ME. INJECTING YOU WITH FUCKING SOPOR AND TAKING YOU OUT FOR A WHOLE FUCKING DAY SEEMS LIKE OVERKILL.  
CG: I MEAN, IF THAT CHAHUT BITCH AND THE WHATEVER-THE-FUCK TWINS ARE ALSO SUBJUGGLATORS, YOUR CHUCKLEVOODOOS SHOULDN’T BE ABLE TO AFFECT THEM THAT MUCH.

AT: ThOsE mOtHeRfUcKeRs KnEw FrOm WaY bAcK bEfOrE tHe WaR ThAt My WiCkEd PoWeRs AiN’t NoNe To Be TaKeN lIgHtLy.  
AT: Of CoUrSe, It AiN’t As MoThErFuCkIn EaSy To GeT mY hArShWhImSiEs On OtHeR pUrPleBlOoDs CaUsE tHeIr PoWeRs ArE sImIlAr To My MoThErFuCkIn OwN.  
AT: BuT It’S sOrTa LiKe ThE wAy TaVbRo’S cOmMuNiNg ShiT iS mOrE BiTcHtItS tHaN oThEr MoThErFuCkErS wItH cHoColAtE bLoOd.

CG: BUT IT WAS STILL THREE AGAINST ONE.

AT: MoThErFuCkEr, YoU’d Up AnD uNdErStAnD iF yOu KnEw WhO mY aNcEsToR wAs.

CG: WHO’S YOUR FUCKING ANCESTOR? HOW DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHO HE IS?

AT: I  
AT: WeLl, We GoT tHe SaMe MoTheRfUcKiN hOrNs AnD tHe SaMe MoTheRfuCkIn sIgN.  
AT: bUt I kInDa GoT mY nErVoUsNeSs On FoR tElLiNg A lOwBlOoD mOtHeRfUcKeR, kArKaT.

CG: AND HERE I THOUGHT WE WERE GETTING CHUMMY ENOUGH FOR ME TO HOLD YOUR WIGGLER-ASS HAND AS YOU TRY TO DEAL WITH STUPID SHIT.  
CG: HOW BAD COULD IT POSSIBLY BE?

There's a pause before he gives you an answer you are totally unprepared for.

AT: ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN gRaNd HiGhBlOoD.  


CG: WHAT  
CG: WAIT  
CG: HOLY  
CG: THAT IS AS BAD AS IT COULD POSSIBLY BE

This time, you really do throw down your palmhusk because the GRAND FUCKING HIGHBLOOD?

You must have said that out loud, because suddenly your friends are looking at you. 

“What’s the Grand Highblood got to do with any of this?” Aradia asks with an impatient tone. 

You meet her demanding gaze. “He’s Gamzee’s fucking ancestor!” you shout.

Kanaya swiftly gets to her feet, all of the color drained from her face. “That's why his name sounded so familiar,” she breathes. “The Grand Highblood’s long-awaited and honored descendant! People were talking about the young rising subjugglator who was making his mark on Alternian society.” Then in a louder and much more commanding tone, she says, “Karkat, cease pestering him immediately!”

“And since when have you been on a first name basis with him?” Aradia demands.

You don't really know how to explain that. You are also kind of surprised by the two girls’ sudden harshness. “Calm the fuck down, you two, let's consider this--”

“What is there to consider? In all of history the lowbloods have had no greater enemy than this douchebag!” Aradia exclaims. 

“AA, calm--”

She cuts Sollux off, not even appearing to have heard her moirail. “Karkat, I know history doesn't interest you much, but I happen to be pretty knowledgeable on the matter, and I'm telling you that it's not a good idea to associate with the Grand Highblood. You have no idea how many lowbloods he's killed, and--the way he liked to toy with his victims! Did you know that in the Capitol there are still purpleblood temples where the Grand Highblood liked to cull his victims? They still preserve his blood murals!”

“Well, no, I didn't fucking know that, because I don't jerk off to dead fucking people the way you do, Aradia, but I'm also not fucking stupid. I'd have to have grown up in a gogdamn hole not to know how fucking dangerous and psychotic the Grand Highblood was. But I'm not about to become Gamzee’s best fucking friend. It's just a situation with Tavros--”

“Tavros!” she gasps, as though realizing something. “He's--that monster has been using his chucklevoodoos on my best friend! That's how he got into his head when he was dying! It makes sense--I mean of course the Grand Highblood’s spawn would have enough power to pull that off--somehow that must be why Tavros can psychically communicate with him!”

You don't want to believe it, but then you remember something Gamzee said earlier--He’S aLrEaDy GoNe DoWn ThE wOrSt JoUrNeY wItH tHiS mOthErFuCkEr HeRe AnD hE’S sTiLl ThE sAmE mIrAcUlOuS tAvRoS. You realize that Aradia is right.

“Karkat, if he really is the descendant of the Grand Highblood, then he could be our greatest enemy in this war,” Kanaya says. “The Grand Highblood’s reign of terror was so frightful that purplebloods continue to be the most feared caste even to this day. His powers were almost single handedly responsible for the complete domination the highbloods managed to garner over lowbloods.”

You are still torn over this revelation, but to your surprise, it is Nepeta who interjects, “Kanaya! I'm surpurrised at you!” Her voice is cold and fierce, and it's in moments like these that you are reminded just how badass Nepeta can be beneath her stupidly cuddly, furry mannerisms. “You were the one who met this Gamzee fellow the other day, and you told me all about the way he and Tafuros treated each other. I may not know much about anything, but I am an expurrt on relationships! If you were telling me the truth about them, then I'll have you know that you can't fake or purrtend actions like that! It sounded like Tafuros really trusts and cares about Gamzee. And if Gamzee didn't care about Tafuros too he wouldn't be so purrtective of him, or carry him around beclaws Tafuros can't walk by himself anymore. It doesn't matter who Gamzee’s ancestor is if he cares about Tafuros. I mean, Gamzee got into trouble for killing their captain, and that was beclaws he was purrtecting Tafuros too!”

Kanaya had tearfully told all of you the way the High Side Captain had raped Tavros when she infiltrated the camp that day. It made you want to vomit and then rip the asshole to shreds, but Gamzee had apparently beaten you to it. 

“We can't put our faith in a couple of misplaced feelings,” Aradia argues. “Tavros is too nice for his own good, and after so much time together with the Highblood’s descendant, of course he would start to feel something for the guy.”

“Aradia, I can't believe I'm fucking saying this, but I don't think you're giving Tavros a completely fair assessment,” you hear yourself saying. “Just because he lets people treat him like dirty underwear and doesn't really do anything about it doesn't mean he can't hold a grudge like a fucking bitch. I mean, he STILL fucking complains about the way I yelled at him the first time we met, in that non-confrontational passive-aggressive way that he likes to do things. He's basically like a hypersensitive post-orgasmic bulge; he feels everything ten times more strongly than normal bulges but he's too soft to stand up to any of it.”

“Great comparithon, KK.”

“Shut your trap. Anyway, I think it's actually saying something that Tavros still trusts this guy even after getting his ass chucklevoodooed,” you finish.

“I agree with AA. About how it’th not a good idea for uth to athociate with the Grand Highblood. But thith guy ithn’t the Grand Highblood. Right? None of uth even know who our own ancethtorth are. Maybe they were douchebagth after all but that doethn’t mean we should thtop athothiating with ourthelveth. That would be thtupid.”

“Sollux!” Aradia gasps, stricken. “Are you actually...not taking my side?”

Sollux avoids her eyes. “Jutht...hear me out, AA. Ith it really tho inconceivable that TV thomehow made friendth with the Grand Highblood’th dethcendant? I mean, we're talking about TV here, he thtill fucking talkth to UTH even after we told him to go fuck himthelf like, multiple timeth. And like, what did you expect, for a purpleblood not to uthe hith fucking chucklevoodooth? Chucklevoodooth are purplebloodth’ main weapon. It’th really not that much of a fucking thurprithe. I'm not thaying I underthtand how it happened, but he and TV probably came to an underthtanding thomehow. And honethtly part of having a relationship with trutht ith hurting each other, and then getting over it. Jutht look at you and me, AA.”

Aradia’s face is stony. “You're comparing me, your moirail, to that...monster?”

“No! AA, no, I didn't thay that,” Sollux quickly tries to amend. “What I'm thaying ith jutht...you and me are only two blood cathteth apart and we’ve known each other for thweepth, but it’th not like our moirallegiance hath been all lollipopth and bunnieth the whole way. Of courthe there’th gonna be weird shit in TV and the purpleblood’th relationship, but TV already told uth that it’th perthonal and I think we should rethpect that. I mean, chucklevoodooth are kinda extreme, sure, but thethe are dethperate timeth.”

Aradia doesn't look appeased in the slightest, and Sollux looks increasingly nervous. Nepeta, Kanaya, and surprisingly, that blueblood Equius, are watching them with various degrees of worry and interest. You can feel the dawning of a pale fight among you, and normally you'd feel bad for Sollux but right now you can't bring yourself to care.The conversation was getting off-topic, anyway, so you turn back to your palmhusk.

AT: BrOtHeR?  
AT: yOu StIlL mOtHeRfUcKiN tHeRe?  
AT: HeY mAn YoU’rE mAkInG tHiS mOtHeRfUcKeR nErVoUs WiTh YoUr NoN-aNsWeRiN.  
AT: kArKaT?  
AT: karkat.  
AT: MOTHERFUCKIN ANSWER ME, MOTHERFUCKER.  
AT: can't motherfuckin keep my gogdamn chill if a brother leaves me hanging like that.  
AT: LOOK HERE, MUTANTBLOOD.  
AT: i may have inherited a whole motherfuckin lot from my motherfuckin ancestor.  
AT: BUT I MOTHERFUCKIN SWEAR THAT I AIN’T HIM.  
AT: i’m motherfuckin different cause i’ve found miracles in flesh reborn here on alternia.  
AT: AND EVEN IF I WAS THE SAME MOTHERFUCKER AS THE GRAND FUCKIN HIGHBLOOD  
AT: even that motherfucker would’ve changed if he met a miraculous brother like tavros.

CG: JEGUS, WHAT IS YOUR ISSUE?  
CG: CAN’T I LEAVE YOU FOR FIVE FUCKING SECONDS WITHOUT YOU GOING ALL CRAY-CRAY MODE ON MY ASS? MAYBE I HAD TO GO TAKE A SHIT TO CLEAR MY DIGESTIVE SYSTEM OF ALL THE CRAP I’VE INGESTED BY TALKING TO YOU, FUCKASS.  
CG: AND WHATEVER, STOP FREAKING, IT’S FINE.  
CG: YOU’RE YOU, NOT YOUR FUCKING BULGESTAIN OF AN ANCESTOR, YADDA YADDA YADDA. IT WAS JUST A SHOCK TO ME.  
CG: AS LONG AS YOU’RE FULLY AWARE OF WHAT A HUGE PIECE OF ACTUAL SHIT HE WAS, WE’RE FINE.

AT: ThAt MaKeS a MoThErFuCkEr ReAl FuCkIn HaPpY, bRoThEr.

CG: SAVE YOUR BULGEMUNCHING SAPPINESS.  
CG: SO THIS IS THE FIRST TIME YOU’VE WOKEN UP SINCE THAT ABOMINATION OF AN INCIDENT YESTERDAY?  
CG: AND THEY’VE GOT YOU LOCKED UP?

AT: YeAh, MaN. iT’s A mOtHeRfUcKiN rEsPiTeBlOcK, gOt A mOtHeRfUcKiN cOoN iN hErE aNd AlL tHaT, bUt ThAt TrAiToRoUs DoOr WoN’t MoThErFuCkIn OpEn.

CG: ARE THEY BRINGING YOU BACK TO THE CAPITOL AT ALL?

AT: ThAt’S tHe MoThErFuCkIn PrObLeM riGhT hErE.  
AT: i ThOuGhT tHaT wAs WhErE i WaS hEaDeD, i ThOuGhT tHeY’d HaD eNoUgH oF tHiS mOtHeRfUcKeR iN a HiGh SiDe UnIfOrM aNd DeCiDeD tO dIsChArGe HiM.  
AT: BuT tHe TwInS hAd ThEiR mOtHeRfUcKiN tAlK wItH mE jUsT nOw.  
AT: mOtHeRfUcKeRs Up AnD cOmMuNiCaTeD tHaT tHiS mOtHeRfUcKeR wOn’T bE gOiNg BaCk To ThE cApItOl AfTeR aLl.  
AT: ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN eMpReSs HeRsElF gAvE hEr RoYaL dEcReE tHaT tHiS mOtHerFuCkEr’S sTaYiNg In LoTaM fOr TwO mOtHeRfUcKiN wEeKs. ThEn ThEy’Re SeNdInG mE bAcK tO tHe BaTtLeFiElD.  
AT: i AiN’t BeInG dIsChArGeD aFtEr AlL, jUsT mOtHeRfUcKiN dIsCiPlInEd Or SoMe ShIt.

CG: SHIT.  
CG: SHIT THIS IS A PROBLEM.  
CG: IF YOU DON’T HAUL YOUR ASS TO THE CAPITOL SOMEHOW THERE’S NO TELLING WHAT KIND OF FUCKED UP SHIT THEY’RE GOING TO REGURGITATE ON THE KID.  
CG: DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG AGO HE DEPARTED FROM LOTAM?

AT: JuSt A mOtHeRfUcKiN hOuR aGo.

CG: FUCKING HELL, WHY COULDN’T YOU HAVE JUST WOKEN UP A BIT SOONER. YOU LITERALLY JUST FUCKING MISSED HIM.

AT: AnD tHe MoThErFuCkIn BiTcH cHaHuT wEnT wItH hIm.  
AT: So It’S jUsT tHe TwInS lEfT iN lOtAm NoW.  
AT: bUt ThOsE tWo ArE gOiNg BaCk To ThE cItY iN aNoThEr TwO mOtHeRfUcKiN dAyS, wItH tHe NeXt ShIpMeNt oF pRiSoNeRs.

CG: HOLD UP. HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE, TO GET FROM WHERE YOU ARE TO THE CAPITOL?

AT: ThReE-dAy TrAvEl JoUrNeY, mOtHeRfUcKeR.

CG: GAMZEE, YOU HAVE TO GO BACK TO THE CAPITOL ON THE NEXT SHIPMENT.  
CG: THERE’S JUST NO TIME. YOU’LL BARELY MAKE IT IN TIME FOR TAVROS’S TRIAL EVEN IF YOU DO.  
CG: BRIBE THEM, THREATEN THEM, HAVE AN INCESTUOUS PURPLEBLOOD THREESOME WITH THEM IF YOU HAVE TO. YOU HAVE TO GO BACK TO THE CAPITOL WITH THOSE TWINS.

AT: BuT iT dOn’T mOtHeRfUcKin WoRk ThAt WaY, kArKaT.  
AT: yOu GoTtA gEt YoUr MoThErFuCkIn UnDeRsTaNd On ThAt ThE sOlEiLs ArE kInD oF dEaD tO oUtSiDe TeMpTaTiOnS. aNd ThEy’Ll FoLlOw ThEiR mOtHeRfUcKiN oRdErS tO a MoThErFuCkIn CaPiTaL t.  
AT: NoRmAlLy I’d JuSt KiLl ThEiR uNcOoPeRaTiVe AsSeS tO gEt ThEm OuTtA tHe WaY, bUt NoW tHeY’vE pUt A bLaSpHeMoUs CoNtRaPtIoN oN mY mOtHeRfUcKiN sElF, tHaT’lL sHoOt ThIs MoThErFuCkEr FuLl Of SoPoR aGaIn If I sTeP oUtTa LiNe.  
AT: AnD i DoN’T tHiNk SpEnDiNg AnOtHeR dAy In SlImY zZz’S iS gOnNa PuT aNy MoThErFuCkIn BeNeFiT oN tAv’S bUsY-nEsS.

CG: NO SHIT, WE NEED YOU TO BE AS AWAKE AS POSSIBLE IF WE WANT YOU TO BE MARGINALLY USEFUL TO ANYONE ON THE FUCKING PLANET.  
CG: GEEZ, THEY REALLY AREN’T TAKING ANY CHANCES WITH YOU, ARE THEY.  
CG: WHAT KIND OF “CONTRAPTION” IS IT?

AT: It”S a MoThErFuCkIn BlaSpHeMoUs ThInG oN mY nEcK, a CoLlAr Or SoMeThInG.  
AT: aNd ThEy’Ve gOt ThE mOthErFuCkIn ReMoTe BuTtOn In ThEiR WiCkEd FiNgErS.

CG: SO IT’S REMOTELY CONTROLLED.  
CG: SO IT’S ELECTRONIC?

→ BE GAMZEE MAKARA

You fumble with the thing around your neck. It honestly just feels like a metal and plastic to you, but if it’s remotely controlled like your mutant brother is asking here, then...probably. You don’t really know too much about shit like this.

AT: i AiN’t ToO mOthErFuCkIn SuRe BuT i ThInK sO.

CG: AND IF YOU GET THE COLLAR OFF ARE YOU GONNA BE ABLE TO HAUL YOUR SHITSTAINED ASS TO THE CAPITOL?

AT: oF mOtHeRfUcKiN cOuhRsE. iT’s ThE oNlY tHiNg KeEpInG tHoSe TwInS fRoM gEtTiNg ThEiR tHiNkPaNs BuRnEd OuT bY tHiS mOtHeRfUcKeRs BitChTiTs PoWeRs.

CG: OKAY, WAIT A SECOND. I NEED TO ASK SOLLUX SOMETHING.

AT: WaIt, WhIcH oNe Of YoU lOwBlOoD bRoThErS iS sOlLuX?

It takes Karkat a few minutes to reply to you again.

CG: SOLLUX IS THE BIPOLAR RED-AND-BLUE BEE-FUCKER.

It doesn’t take too long for you to connect that description with the bespectacled quadruple-horned troll. You didn’t pay too much attention to him that other day when you fought them, but if you remember correctly he was a psionic.

CG: ALL RIGHT. LISTEN UP.  
CG: YOU’RE IN A LOWBLOOD PRISON CAMP, RIGHT? THAT MEANS THERE’S GOTTA BE SOME PSIONIC GOLDBLOODS THERE.

AT: I aIn’T tOo MoThErFuCkIn SuRe, MaN. i AiN’t GoT mY lOoK oN aT aNy Of ThE oThEr PrIsOnErS hErE yEt.  
AT: bUt I wOuLd MoThErFuCkIn ThInK sO.

CG: HERE’S WHAT YOU’RE GONNA DO.  
CG: FIND ONE OF THOSE PSIONIC GOLDBLOODS AND GET THEM TO DISABLE THE COLLAR FOR YOU.  
CG: BUT DON’T LET THE TWINS OR ANY OF THE OTHER SUBJUGGLATORS SEE YOU DOING IT.  
CG: OTHERWISE THOSE FUCKASSES MIGHT SPRING ANOTHER FUCKING ATTACK ON YOU AND HELL KNOWS THEY WON’T LET YOU OFF SO EASILY THE SECOND TIME.  
CG: AND YOU’LL ALSO HAVE TO BE CAREFUL.  
CG: SOLLUX SAID THAT A YELLOWBLOOD WITH GOOD PSYCHIC CONTROL WOULD BE ABLE TO DO IT, NO FUCKING PROBLEMS. BUT CONSIDERING THE CONDITION OF THE PRISONERS THERE, IT MIGHT BE POSSIBLE THAT THEIR CONTROL IS SHOT TO THE LOWEST FUCKING POINT IN SPACE, AND THEY MIGHT END UP ELECTROCUTING YOUR COLDBLOOD CARCASS INSTEAD.

You’re considering this plan, which sounds like a good one, if not for one tiny problem.

AT: ThAt AlL uP sOuNdS lIkE a ClEvEr MoThErFuCkIn PlAn, SmArTbRo.  
AT: BuT yOu GoTtA rEmEmBeR tHaT i’M sTiLl a MoThErFuCkIn HiGh As MoThErFuCk HiGhBlOoD.  
AT: i DoN’t Up AnD MoThErFuCkIn KnOw HoW i’M sUpPoSeD tO gEt A lOwBlOoD tO hElP mE.  
AT: i KiNdA gOt My FeEl On ThAt A yElLoW mOtHeRfUcKeR wOuLd Be PrEtTy GlAd To SeE tHiS cLoWn ShOt FuLl Of MoThErFuCkIn ElEcTrIcItY.

CG: I DON’T FUCKING KNOW, SHITSTAIN.  
CG: IF YOU’RE ASKING ME TO MAKE YOU MORE LIKABLE, YOU ARE FUCKING OUT OF LUCK. MY CONCLUSION IS THAT IT IS COMPLETELY FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE.  
CG: JUST  
CG: I DON’T KNOW, DO WHATEVER HIGHBLOOD SEDUCING THING YOU DID TO MAKE TAVROS FUCKING TOLERATE YOU.

You honestly have no idea why Tavros even tolerates you after everything you did.

AT: i’Ll  
AT: I’lL mOtHeRfUcKiN tRy, MaN.

CG: ALL RIGHT, AND GAMZEE.  
CG: JUST SO YOU’RE FUCKING AWARE.  
CG: BY DOING THIS YOU ARE INDIRECTLY DISOBEYING THE EMPRESS, WHICH MEANS THAT THIS FUCKFEST COULD END UP ONE OF TWO WAYS. EITHER SHE GOES EASY ON YOU BECAUSE YOU’RE THE GRAND HIGHBLOOD’S FUCKING DESCENDANT, OR SHE FLIPS HER SHIT BECAUSE THE GRAND HIGHBLOOD’S FUCKING DESCENDANT DISOBEYED HER.  
CG: I MEAN, TECHNICALLY, YOU ARE COMMITTING TREASON.  
CG: HECK, YOU’RE ALREADY COMMITTING IT BY TALKING TO ME.

AT: AiN’t No SuCh ThInG aS tReAsOn If I uP aNd DiSoBeY sOmE mOtHeRfUcKiN bLaSpHeMeRs ThAt I nEvEr Up AnD hAd No LoYaLtY fOr.

CG: ALL RIGHT. JEGUS I REALLY CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS. THE FUCKING RESULT OF THE DISGUSTING GENETIC MATERIAL THAT CAME OUT OF THE GRAND HIGHBLOOD’S BULGE IS ACTUALLY ON OUR FUCKING SIDE.

AT: HoNk.

CG: SHUT THE FUCK UP. LISTEN, IF POSSIBLE YOU NEED TO STAY IN THE CAPITOL’S GOOD GRACES IF YOU CAN.  
CG: IT CAN GIVE US AN ADVANTAGE IF THEY THINK YOU’RE JUST ANOTHER ONE OF THEIR LOYAL BITCHES.  
CG: SO, AS FUCKING HARD AS IT MIGHT BE FOR YOU, YOU NEED TO GET YOUR SHIT UNDER CONTROL. NO FLIPPING OUT, NO MURDERING IF YOU CAN HELP IT, AND HOLY FUCK DON’T GO SPOUTING STUFF ABOUT TAVROS IN THEIR FACES BECAUSE THEY’LL CULL YOUR ASS AND THEN CULL HIS TOO IF THEY THINK YOU HAVE SYMPATHIES FOR HIM.  
CG: AND DON’T LET THEM FIND OUT YOU HAVE TAVROS’S PALMHUSK. I DON’T EVEN WANT TO IMAGINE WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL WOULD MANUFACTURE THE SHIT THAT WOULD RESULT FROM A SCENARIO LIKE THAT.  
CG: JUST ACT LIKE YOU’RE A GOOD LITTLE HIGHBLOOD WHO HAS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH THE LOW SIDE. GOT IT?

You frown. Acting like a good highblood has never been something you were particularly good at. Sure, you culled lowbloods before, but you also had nothing in terms of highblood manners, or respect for the government, or anything like that. Looks like that’ll have to change. 

AT: I mOtHeRfUcKiN gOt It.  
AT: FoR tAvRoS.

CG: …  
CG: JUST ONE LAST QUESTION.  
CG: YOU SAID  
CG: YOU SAID YOU WANTED TAVROS TO BE IN ONE OF YOUR MORE “BEAUTIFUL QUADRANTS”?  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN?

Your feel your face flush purple all of a sudden. 

AT: Uh  
AT: WeLl tHaT wAs In ThE hYpOtHeTiCaL sItUaTiOn ThAt I tOlD tHe CaPiToL pEoPlE tHaT hE’s My QuAdRaNtMaTe.

CG: OH SHIT. YOU ARE ACTUALLY FUCKING CAPABLE OF FORMING A SENTENCE WITHOUT THE WORD MOTHERFUCK OR A VARIATION OF IT. I AM SO FLOORED RIGHT NOW THAT I’M LITERALLY MADE OUT OF TILE. LITERALLY.  
CG: LET ME REPHRASE THIS IN A WAY YOUR IDIOT PAN CAN ACTUALLY COMPREHEND.  
CG: WHAT IS TAVROS TO YOU?  
CG: OR  
CG: WHAT DO YOU WANT HIM TO BE?

AT: He’S

adiosToreador [AT] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] 

You have no time to ponder this very difficult question, even though you genuinely do want to give this Karkat brother an answer. But there’s shuffling noises outside your door. You quickly shove Tavros’s palmhusk back into your pocket.

“Makara?”

“Uh.” You clear your throat, and try your best to act like a good little highblood. “Motherfuckin’ present?”

There's a pause, and you imagine that Barnum and Baizli are probably bewildered by the drastic change in your behavior. Well, it's a good thing you're regarded as “capricious”, you suppose; you could just play this off as one of your mood swings. 

There's a clicking sound and suddenly that door that you were trying so hard to unlock swings open, and both of the twins are standing there. You try to look non-threatening as you sit in Tavros’s four-wheel device.

“Why are you still sitting in that thing?” they ask.

You shrug. “It's pretty motherfucking comfortable,” you lie. You're actually kind of sore for sitting on it for so long, and your bloodpusher hurts when you think of the way Tavros has to use this thing because of his useless legs. And then you're even more distraught because if the device is with you, surely Chahut is transporting him via dragging right now. 

“And…” they observe the horrendous condition of the respiteblock. “...what happened here.”

“Eh...had to get those unmiraculous feels up and out of my motherfucking system.”

They observe you strangely, as if unable to comprehend that you've managed to calm down so quickly and on your own (of course, they don't know that you actually had help). “Why are you...you're so...unexpectedly composed...we thought you would be...furious with us.”

“Don't have any motherfucking thing up and against some miracle twins,” you lie again, “It's just Chahut who made me lose my motherfucking chill real motherfucking fast. Motherfucking got my despise on for that bitch, but she ain’t here anymore.” You can help the venom that seeps into your voice, but internally you frantically calm yourself down, thinking of Karkat’s words, because already your control is slipping somewhat.

Fortunately, however, the twins seem to buy this explanation, and even though they still seem somewhat doubtful, they were never nosy motherfuckers and don't inquire further. Instead, they gesture for you to follow them out of the respiteblock.

They give you a brief tour of Lotam’s camp grounds, and at first you can't help but find delight in the whimsical tents and polka dots and stripes that you love so much. But then you catch a glimpse of some of the scrawny prisoners peeking at you with absolute terror in their eyes. 

“Uh...hey motherfuckers, did they motherfucking take any...miraculous head parts from Tav--from the brownblood brother?” you ask with dread.

“No,” they answer, “Trial-bound prisoners get to keep their hair and horns for the time being.”

You sigh with relief.

They inform you that you’ll be assuming evening duties, so you get to retain normal sleeping hours. “What’s involved in a motherfucking daytime shift?” you ask.

“Keeping the prisoners asleep,” they reply. “But we thought it would be wiser to allow you to...rest your chucklevoodoos while here.”

They take you to a room that is completely drenched in blood. All three of you are unphased by the blood itself, because you've seen bloody rooms too many times to count. Usually you were the cause of said bloodiness, anyway. But this time you do feel uncomfortable, because all of this blood belongs to lowbloods. Tavros is a lowblood. Karkat is a lowblood--well, kind of. 

Good little highblood, you remind yourself. “What's up and goin’ with these miraculous colors here?”

“We thought you'd be more in your...element, dealing with blood,” the twins inform you. “You only have to remove horns here. There aren't too many new prisoners today, so you shouldn't have to de-horn too many of them. You may cull one or two if you can’t resist.”

You stay silent.

“...Makara?”

“Oh, yes. Kinda motherfucking zoned out for a moment there. I think the sopor’s still messing with my pan. All right, yeah, motherfucking bitchtits.” You pick up the large saw that was lying in the center of the room. You prefer your clubs, but whatever, saws will get a cleaner job done. 

They give you a lingering look of suspicion before leaving you there, and it only takes a couple of minutes before a shivering prisoner stumbles into the room. 

You know how this works. You've done this before, multiple times. You get the victim to lie on the floor, you sit on their torso to keep them from flailing, you hold their head down with one hand and you remove the horn with the other. 

The prisoner is groveling on the floor right now, sobbing incoherently and sputtering unintelligible pleas. 

“I think a motherfucker needs to lie down for this motherfucking party to roll,” you hear yourself say. 

You end up having to drag him into the middle of the room while he screams and cries and begs for you not to do this.

Tavros would be frightened out of his mind, you think, but he would try to conceal his shivering and he would bite his tongue to keep quiet, instead of this motherfucking racket. 

As you position yourself on top of your victim, you realize that even though you've done this before, you really don't want to do this. But if you don't do it, someone else is gonna do it anyway. Besides, you need to act like the good highblood. You're doing this for Tavros.

You feel like you're sullying his name, hurting other people for his sake, when you know how much he hates when other people suffer.

Screaming fills the room and the body beneath you jerks like an angry hoofbeast when you begin the process. The screaming is deep and hoarse. Nothing like Tav’s. The horns are rather unspectacular, just curved slightly upward out of the top of his head. Nothing like Tav’s. 

But the blood that spurts from the horn, that wells up out of the prisoner’s head, is bronze, just like Tav’s.

What does removing one’s horns even feel like? You'd never thought about that before. You suppose it feels like sawing through one’s bones--only a hundred times worse. 

You've sawed halfway through the orange keratin, when you realize that there's more than one person’s voice screaming right now. Only when you feel your throat starting to burn do you realize that you're yelling yourself hoarse. 

You drop the saw in your horror, but the only the thing that that accomplishes is the serrated blade opening a deep gash in the side of the brownblood’s head. Thick, chocolate-colored blood starts pooling all over the floor, getting all over your shoes. His screaming diminishes into an incoherent, agonized gurgle.

You are completely panicking by now, so in a desperate move, you reach out with your chucklevoodoos and try something you've never tried before; you take away the prisoner’s capacity for pain.

His thrashing stops immediately, though his body continues to twitch in the aftershocks of agony. He brings a trembling hand up to his head and feels around the halfway-removed horn and the flap of flesh hanging from the side of his skull.

He lifts his haunted eyes and stares at you, and for a moment you stare back, completely unsure of what you should do.

“Please have mercy,” he whispers at last. “Just kill me.”

Mercy? That's something you've never had before, and you almost want to ask him where you should get it. But then you realize what he’s asking for, and you realize you want to give it to him. Not because you want to kill him, but because his suffering is making you suffer and you just want it to end.

You realize that Tavros had given you mercy without you even realizing it. 

So you take out your clubs, and with a swift blow to the head you deliver the nameless brownblood’s wish. It's not your first kill but it's your first mercy killing.

After that, you use your chucklevoodoos to take away their pain when you perform the removal procedure. By the end of the night, you are completely drenched in blood. You conclude that you hate doing this--today was perhaps the worst day of your life--but you like having mercy. 

You still need to get a yellowblood psionic to help you--perhaps you can accomplish this with mercy too.

The Soleil twins invite you to eat with them and some other subjugglator guards before bed, but you wave them off, saying that the sopor is still messing with your pan and you want to retire early. The subjugglators comment about how you look good, covered in blood. You spend one whole hour in the ablution trap, scrubbing at your skin, and all the colors swirl down the drain, except for bronze. That orange chocolate color continues to stain you, and only when you scratch yourself so hard that purple wells up do you realize that you were just imagining it; all the blood, including the bronze, had been washed off you the moment the water touched your skin.

It's almost morning when you get out of the ablution trap. The prisoners are being herded to bed. You don't reapply your subjugglator face paint before heading out to one of the tents, glancing left and right. Karkat told you not to let yourself get seen by the other subjugglators. When you enter the tent, you are greeted with the sight of dozens of wriggling, emaciated lowblood bodies, crammed like sardines onto rusty bunk beds. Despite your lack of face paint, it is only too obvious from your polka-dotted pants that you are a subjugglator, and the eyes that look up at you are overwhelmingly filled with contempt and fear.

“All right, my main motherfuckers,” you say, trying to sound friendly but feeling more nervous than you have for a long time. “Who all here is a motherfucking psionic?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! The first chapter of this fic in 2018. Here's to still being Homestuck trash in 2019? };o)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art for this chapter: https://yzydragon2222.deviantart.com/art/all-0f-y0u-just-leave-me-al0ne-728268309?ga_submit_new=10%3A1517281670&ga_type=edit&ga_changes=1&ga_recent=1
> 
> Follow this fic on tumblr at @icanfeelyouacrosstheline! Or, if you feel like being spammed with PBJ reblogs and random Homestuck shit, follow me @a2cidentalonomatopoeia
> 
> SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT--AGAIN!!!!! Hope all of you are still alive. Don't worry *not that you were but anyway*, I am still alive, but just barely. Long chapter because I am incapable of shutting up! };o)

→ BE EQUIUS ZAHHAK

The torn veins in your broken horn throb and pulse incessantly, day and night nonstop, drilling a dull beat into your skull. Your threshold for pain is quite high, and besides, it no longer feels as excruciating as it did when the highblood first broke it with his well-aimed club, but the sensation is nonetheless unpleasant. Your severed horn makes the right side of your head feel woozy and unbalanced, and your thinkpan is sometimes filled with a dizzying fogginess that makes it hard to focus on anything. You could, of course, get used to it, but sometimes you wonder, somewhat wistfully, somewhat sadly, somewhat bitterly, if this--dizzy and weak and broken--is going to be the way you feel for the rest of your life.

When the highblood ordered you to stay here, in this cave with a bunch of lowbloods, you didn’t question it. You didn’t like the situation, not one bit, but you would not go against a highblood’s direct command. A troublesome, short-term assignment was all this was. The highblood would return, he would see that you had loyally followed his orders, and the two of you would return to your platoon, and you could put this weird episode of your life behind you.

This is what you’d like to believe. But while you are stubborn and admittedly short sighted sometimes, you are not stupid. No, your blood is indigo, not some foolish metallic color, and as such it should never be assumed that you lack intelligence. Which is why, with each passing second, you are growing more and more doubtful that any of this is going to end well for you. If it ever ends at all.

And shamefully enough, it was Nepeta’s--hrrrm, you mean, that savage oliveblood girl’s--question that made you really start seriously considering the possibilities for your future. "Okay, but what about when the highblood comes back? Or what if he nefur comes back?" she’d said while tying you up (and oh gog, you’d just sat there and let her do it).

You hadn’t really put much thought into Gamzee’s peculiar behavior, before. The highblood was a peculiar person. But now that you think back on it, he was indeed acting...more peculiar than usual, even for him, after he took that bronzeblood cripple into custody. It had been surprising, indeed: it wasn’t Gamzee’s style to take anyone home for lewd activities--that was more of what Vriska liked to do. But again, you hadn’t thought much of it. It wasn’t your business. Until of course, you walked in on a moment of...genuine affection between Gamzee and the cripple. And to top it off, the highblood now wants you to make sure that this unruly quintet of lowbloods stays alive and safe. At first, you assumed that Nepeta--hrrrm, the lowblood olive girl--and her comrades were just Low Side deserters, and that Gamzee had some weird, perverse interest in them. Perhaps he wanted to kill them himself? But then it became clear, from the series of warning messages that he sent you, that he had no ill intention towards them and seemed very much on their side. And it soon became glaringly clear that while they were away from the rest of their own platoon at the moment, Nepeta--no, no, stop calling her by name, she’s just a lowblood of classless hue--and her comrades were not deserters at all, still very much loyal to the Low Side’s cause.

Does that mean that Gamzee is a traitor?

You are not a traitor. You do not want anything to do with a traitor. But Gamzee is a highblood. But he is still a traitor! His rights as a purpleblood should be rescinded if he has chosen to betray all highbloods. Which is indeed a foolish decision. This war has dragged on for much longer than anyone expected, but it is still no question that the High Side will prevail. The lowbloods are only digging themselves to an even earlier and more painful grave! Of course the hemospectrum will prevail in the end. It is the order under which all trolls function, and without it, there is only chaos. The hemospectrum is the law. The hemospectrum is normalcy. You like normalcy.

(You like normalcy because you’ve never been normal before: your ridiculous strength and odd mannerisms have always repelled others from you, for some reason. You’d like to know what real normalcy tastes like.)

And if Gamzee has indeed gone over to the Low Side, well, then, what does that make you? A hostage? Does he expect you to join him in his treason? Well, you have absolutely no intention to do so. The mere thought makes your skin crawl, your cool shade of blood boil..

Well...it’s not like the highblood is here now. You could...just leave, you suppose. It wouldn’t be as easy as you expected at first. These five lowbloods are no pushovers, especially that deceptively thin yellowblood. You’ve seen him use his psionics to haul boulders out of the way in this cave, and he didn’t even break a sweat. He would be deadly in battle--you would know, you already had a taste of it that other day. The jadeblood--what a pity that she should be on the Low Side, her hue of blood isn’t so bad--can wield a chainsaw with such ease, one would think she were handling no more than a tube of lipstick. The mutantblood still thinks it would be in their best interest to kill you, and honestly, you agree, but Nepeta--argh! No! The oliveblood peasant!--has advocated in favor of your life and for some reason the mutantblood acquiesced. Point being, escaping from their clutches would be no laughing matter, especially since they know that letting you go would be suicidal for them. Still, if you put up one hell--ooh, excuse you--one heck of a fight, you might be able to get away in mostly one piece. Then you could return to your platoon, and everything would return to normal. You could inform the captain about the location of these lowbloods, and have more reinforcements come and dispose of them. Or take them prisoner, as Vriska had done for their bronzeblood comrade.

You toy with the idea of just taking that risk and escaping from this cave, back to your platoon. You’d be risking Gamzee’s wrath, but the capricious purpleblood’s movements and intentions are impossible for you to predict, and you don’t even know where he is right now. Leaving this place honestly seems like the most advisable thing to do.

But deep in your bloodpusher, you know you’re not going to do it.

It’s not because you’re afraid that the highblood is going to find out, and kill you for it. You don’t want to die, but you’re not THAT terrified of death. You joined the army, after all.

And it’s not because you can’t help but be bitter that NONE of your fellow soldiers back on the platoon--not Vriska or Terezi or her seadwelling highness--bothered to send you a Trollian message and ask about your whereabouts. None of you were close enough to be considered friends, but you were still allies, and it stings that, despite the fact that little of it is positive, you’ve received more attention here with the lowbloods within the span of a few days than you ever did amongst your fellow highbloods after months in the army.

It’s not because you’d feel slightly guilty for turning these lowbloods in, considering that their bronzeblood friend saved your life (still your most shameful moment).

And the reason you won’t leave is not even because of Nepeta, who is a lowblood savage who’s been surprisingly civil to you and doesn’t think you’re a freak.

No. The reason you won’t actually leave is having a fight with her moirail right now. And you are just sitting here in a corner, watching, because none of the lowbloods can be bothered with you. Your expression is passive as ever, but you are making a puddle with your indigo sweat. Inside, you are feeling...tingly and hopeful and...gleeful? Because she’s having a fight with her MOIRAIL. Who you really, really dislike. Your dislike for him has nothing to do with his blood, or his psionics, or anything like that. It’s because he has been hoarding all of HER time and attention. And affection. Time and attention and affection that he does not deserve. Time and attention and affection that you want.

She’s been worse than cold towards you, and her attitude towards you has been the nastiest, out of all the lowbloods here. Except maybe the mutantblood, but after you got over the surprise of his horrendously dirty mouth, his ridiculous remarks didn’t seem so bad. Perhaps because his yelling wasn’t exclusive towards you. But the rustblood...she’s gentle and mild towards the jadeblood and Nepeta...lively and enthusiastic towards the mutantblood...fond and doting towards her moirail...altogether she has such a fiery, indomitable, forceful spirit, and yet carries herself with grace and elegance...what an exquisite multi-faceted specimen! And it frustrates you to no end that she’ll barely spare you a glance when YOU are the highblood here, but...

You never had a particular interest in slaves before, but you are sure that if you weren’t at war right now and you saw her on the market, you wouldn’t hesitate to buy her!

You put the thoughts of purchasing Aradia out of your head, and instead focus on the loud argument she’s having with her moirail. She’s standing her ground, fists curled up by her sides, long black hair framing her flushed face, rust eyes wide and angry. “I can’t BELIEVE you Sollux, I thought--”

“AA, pleathe thtop--” he protests--

“--that as my MOIRAIL, you would support me--”

“Let’th thtop and talk about it--”

“--and we promised to always have each other’s backs--”

“AA, calm down, I know you’re better than thith--”

“Better than what, exactly?” she asks heatedly. “Better than a rustblood that can’t control her temper? Better than a dirtblood who can’t trust a highblood after everything those sickos have done to us? Because I’m not better than that, Sollux, you’re wrong!”

“Don’t call yourthelf a dirtblood,” the goldblood snaps. “And you fucking know that’th not what I meant, AA, thtop putting wordth in my mouth!”

“Oh, so now I’M the one putting words in your mouth,” she says. “So I was just imagining it, when you compared me to a highblood monster--and not just any highblood monster, the Grand Highblood’s descendant no less!”

The goldblood opens and closes his mouth a few times, and saliva flies from between his teeth as he sputters for something to say. “Yeth!” he finally ejaculates, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration.

“‘Just look at you and me, AA!’” she says, mimicking his earlier words. “‘It’s not like our moirallegiance has been all lollipops and bunnies the whole way. Of course there’s gonna be weird shit in TV and the purpleblood’s relationship!’ Is that not what you said? Or am I imagining that too?”

“N-no, you’re not imagining that,” the goldblood says, looking both scared and frustrated at the same time. “But I never thaid you were anything like that purpleblood. I wath jutht talking about people hurting each other in relationshipth in general, and the only reathon I brought uth up ith becauthe ourth wath the firtht relationship on my mind. There ithn’t anything more important to me than our moirallegiance, AA!”

“So that’s the first thing you think about when you think about us? Hurting each other?”

“No!” he cries. “No, AA, come on, you--all I meant wath that even in the betht relationshipth people exchange hurtful shit!”

“That purpleblood doesn’t have any kind of ‘relationship’ with Tavros, Sollux,” Aradia says. “Tavros is the victim here and that sicko is just his abuser. I bet that he was pressured to say every single one of those nice things about the purpleblood by those other highbloods--”

“Actually, while I agree that Tavros is the victim, I don’t think he was pressured to say anything,” the jadeblood interrupts, frowning.

Aradia continues as if she hadn’t heard her. “So is that what you think of us, Sollux? That I’m your abuser and you’re the victim?”

“No, I would NEVER think that, AA!” the goldblood chokes out, tears leaking out from behind his bicolored glasses. “You’re the betht thing that ever happened to me--I LOVE you, AA.”

“I love you too,” Aradia replies immediately, and her tone is so cold that the goldblood snaps his mouth shut immediately. Her voice contains none of the fondness or reassurance that the words seem to promise. “You’re my moirail. And I love Tavros, because he’s my best friend. And if you think Tavros and Grand-Highblood-Junior share anything that even remotely qualifies as a ‘relationship’, Sollux, then clearly you don’t love Tavros as much as I do.”

The goldblood suddenly looks angry. “Well, it’th not like TV ith MY fucking betht friend, ith he?”

Aradia’s face crumples a little bit, and she opens her mouth to retaliate, but at that moment, the mutantblood opens his disgusting mouth. “THE TWO OF YOU BULGEMUNCHERS NEED TO STOP FIGHTING RIGHT NOW, AND GO FIND ANOTHER BULGE TO MUNCH. I seriously thought having a bulge in your mouth was the worst possible thing you could do with that particular orifice, but you two are proving me the fuck wrong with the complete fucktardedness of your pointless argument.”

“Really, Karkat?” Aradia seethes. “Well, maybe I’ll listen to you to when you clean the shit out of your own fucking mouth.”

“If not for me, shut up for Nepeta,” the mutantblood returns. “You’re making her cry.”

And he’s correct, indeed. The oliveblood is sitting hunched a few feet behind the mutant, green tear streaks staining her plump cheeks as she watches the altercation between her two friends. You feel a twinge in your bloodpusher at the pitiful sight.

“Do I look like I GIVE A FUCK, KK?” Aradia’s moirail explodes. “I don’t care about you or NP or KN right now--”

“Fuckass, I’m just trying to help, you ungrateful--”

“Well, you’re not helping,” the goldblood retorts. “Don’t think you can tell me what to do. It’th not like you underthtand. You act like you know tho much when you don’t even have a thingle fucking quadrant filled!”

You take a moment to appreciate the amusement that the mutantblood’s stricken expression gives you.

The goldblood turns back to Aradia, his angry expression melting into one of pathetic pleading. “Don’t take thith wrong way, AA, pleathe, AA--but I think you’re being a bit unreathonable. I DO care about TV, of courthe I do, and if thingth were up to me I wouldn’t want him to have anything to do with the purpleblood either. But thingth obviouthly aren’t up to either of uth, and dealing with thith guy ith jutht thomething we have to do if we want to keep TV out of danger. We can’t have everything we want--”

“Everything? EVERYTHING? Sollux, we have nothing! Tavros is making a martyr out of himself and no one even cares!” Her sadness seems to catch up with her anger, and you observe in quiet dismay as copper red tears fall from between her long lashes.

“AA, of courthe we care! But what do you want me to do? At thith point the purpleblood ith in the betht pothition to help him--honethtly, I think we should be grateful that TV’th got a highblood looking out for him. It could be worthe.” He swallows. “If it were...you, AA, in TV’th pothition--oh gog, I don’t even want to think about that--I would--thuck up to a fuchthiablood if I had to, if there wath the thlightetht chanthe of keeping you thafe that way.”

Aradia looks taken aback for a moment, and she quickly bows her head--locks of long hair fall in front of her face and you strain your neck as unobtrusively as you can to try to see through the wavy strands covering her visage. You see hints of a storm brewing in the shadows of her skin.

When she lifts her head again, she looks pale and sickly but determined. “I wouldn’t,” she says firmly.

“W-what?” her moirail asks.

“If it were you in that position, I wouldn’t suck up to any highbloods to keep you safe,” she says tonelessly.

Watching the crestfallen look settling upon her moirail’s face is like looking at a tower crumbling to dust. Despite your dislike for him, you can’t help but feel a little bad, looking at hurt expression. “AA,” he says, sounding broken.

“Because I know that I could never trust them with you. It may seem like the smart way in the beginning, trusting them, but that’s just the way highbloods try to lure us in, like prey. Then they sink in their teeth and it hurts twice as bad.”

Despite her explanation, her moirail seems to have descended into a state of catatonia, and he’s staring at her rather unnervingly with that same miserable expression. It’s unsettling, the sudden change of the frantic, frustrated fervor of his mood to...the dead silence of whatever this is.

It takes her a moment, but the unresponsiveness of her moirail comes to her attention and her expression softens a little. “Sollux?” she tries, a little more gently. “Sollux! Oh shit, not this again, Sollux, I’m sorry--”

He shakes his head, looking dazed and distracted. “No, no, you're right AA,” he says, avoiding her eyes. “You shouldn’t have to talk to highbloodth, or put yourthelf in danger for me. I don’t detherve it--”

“Sollux, stop, that’s not what I meant and you know it--”

“--you’re already tho good to me, it’th terrible of me to expect you to do that for me--”

“NOW look who’s putting words in MY mouth!” Aradia protests.

“I never thaid you thaid any of that, I’m jutht thtating factth--”

The goldblood stops short when the jadeblood suddenly steps in between him and Aradia. The tall, green-blooded troll puts one placating hand on the goldblood’s shoulder, and another soothing one on Aradia’s. You suppose it’s a good thing that their highest-blood is attempting to control the situation.

She turns to the yellowblood first. “Sollux,” she says, gently but firmly, “I’m not necessarily going to say whether or not I agree with Aradia’s perspective, but I think you are misunderstanding her intentions. It’s not that she wouldn’t do everything in her power to help you if you found yourself in a dangerous situation, but she might go about doing so in a way that differs from the path YOU would take to protect HER. I’m sure you can understand the difficulties with trusting highbloods with anything, right? It isn’t as if they’ve done much to prove themselves to us.” The jadeblood rolls her eyes slightly at this, then continues, “Aradia doesn’t mean to demean you. I’m sure you know that. And don’t think that you’re the one at fault for this...contradiction of opinions. Each one of us is as powerless as the next. But if you continue to insist that Aradia wouldn’t protect you because you don’t deserve it, then you’re insulting the beautiful relationship that the two of you share, and cheapening the love that she so evidently feels for you--”

The yellowblood suddenly perks up in another frightening change of disposition, frantic and manic once more. “Well, CHEAP is what AA should EXPECT when she dethided to become moirailth with a CHEAP, mutant WATHTE of a troll ANYWAYTH.”

“You already know I’m pale for you because you’re anything BUT cheap!” Aradia interjects.

“Aradia!” the jadeblood exclaims in a chastising tone. “You aren’t helping--”

“Are you telling me how to talk to my own moirail?”

“No,” the jadeblood says, and despite her patience there is a hint of exasperation in her tone. “But I think you are unintentionally blowing everything that we are trying to say to you out of proportion. There was really no reason to begin this argument in the first place.” The jadeblood steps forward and turns to face both of the moirallegiant pair at once. “Sollux, Aradia,” she says calmly, “all of our emotions are obviously running high right now, but the situation is more delicate for the two of you because you’re quadranted. Coming to blows was something that was going to happen eventually, anyway, but I think both of you need to spend some time away from each other to cool down now that you’ve gotten it out of your system. Sollux, maybe you should spend some time with Karkat, you boys will know how to deal with each other.”

For a moment, the goldblood screws his face up and opens his mouth as though he wants to protest, but then he deflates, his head hanging. “...Fine,” he relents, not meeting Aradia’s or the jadeblood’s eyes.

“Aradia,” the jadeblood says, turning to the rustblood. “You're welcome to spend some time with me and Nepeta. You don't mind, do you, Nepeta?” The oliveblood girl shakes her head. “All right, and we can calmly analyze what has been said here today--”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Aradia cuts in.

“...Excuse me?”

“Are you…auspiticizing for us?”

There is a dead silence. The jadeblood’s face flushes a deep green and the two women stare at one another in disbelief. “No, Aradia, I’m only attempting to control the situation--”

“What gives you the right to interfere with my quadrants?” Aradia demands. “Because you're a highblood?”

“What?” the jadeblood cries, taken aback. “I am not a highblood and you know that. Why else would I be here?”

“I don't know, to boss the rest of us around? You think it's okay to make all of OUR business your own because you're higher than the rest of us?”

“Aradia, that was fucking uncalled for!” the mutant pipes up. “YOU have no fucking right to talk to Kanaya like that no matter what disgusting shade your blood is. Kanaya only wants the best for us and this is how you fucking repay her?”

“Don't talk to me, Karkat!” she spits. “In fact--” she steps back and glares daggers around at all of her friends, “all of you just shut up! You’re all just a bunch of highblood asskissers who would gladly lick Tavros's blood off the Grand Highblood’s shoes!”

“I don't fucking get this, Aradia!” the mutant huffs in frustration. “Maybe you have short-term memory loss or something because your thinkpan got fucked over by your own stupidity, but just a few days ago when Kanaya went to see Tavros, YOU were the one who was okay with him staying right the fuck there when the rest of us wanted him to abscond the fuck away while we still had the chance to save him--”

“EXACTLY!” Aradia explodes, so forcefully that several strands of her long hair fall into her face and into her mouth, which she aggressively wipes away. “And I was wrong, wasn't I? Do you know how it feels, to have condemned your best friend, someone so pure and innocent, to a fate worse than death? To be the only person to witness the moment he was crippled for the rest of his life, and to be completely powerless to do anything about it? I HEARD him DIE, Karkat! You know, the newly deceased always think about the things in life that were the most important to them. And he barely spared me two words, in favor of that fucking highblood. Me, his friend for more than two sweeps, and his fucking torturer. Do you know how badly I must have failed him to actually let that happen? I'm not making the same mistake again. Never.”

Aradia’s chest rises and falls rapidly in exertion after her outburst. You are distracted by it for a few moments--

“But...TV didn't technically actually die,” the goldblood points out meekly.

“Shut up. Just shut up!” She turns on her heel and runs, her thick hair trailing out behind her as she flees deeper and deeper into the cave, and when she runs into a rock wall she raises her hand and swipes at it in midair and the force of her telekinetics brings down a couple of boulders, revealing a shallow passageway. “All of you just--leave me alone!” she shouts back before retreating inside.

You let out the breath you didn’t know you had been holding when she disappears. It’s a pity you can no longer observe her, but it was worth watching her backside as she ran away. And it’s a good thing that she’s away from her moirail now--she’s finally by herself, alone, and perhaps you can soon take your chance and approach her.

But you bite your lip in worry. It was evident from her feud with her friends that she does not take kindly to highbloods--and that is what you are, a highblood. How will you get her to realize that highbloods--and by extension, you--are nothing like the heartless monsters she described?

If not for her appalling disrespect of highbloods, she would be the perfect lowblood. She holds herself to high standards and carries herself with grace, while still possessing a rugged, wild side that those of low blood cannot banish from their personalities. Her insolent attitude toward the hemospectrum should anger you, but instead, it only saddens and worries you. Such destructive thoughts in a creature as biologically basic as a rustblood could easily make her a danger to herself and others.

And for reasons that have nothing to do with the hemospectrum, you are upset to see her...so upset. You cannot understand why she cares so much about that brownblood cripple--what is the worth of a troll with a worthless hue of blood AND a useless body? But never mind--you doubt it would earn you any points in her favor if you tried pointing that out to her. You do, however, have first-hand knowledge that Gamzee was far from the abuser in the relationship between himself and the bronzeblood. This gives you an idea on how to approach her--you can tell her about the way the highblood so lovingly held her best friend in his lanky arms, the way he picked him up and set him on the four-wheel device, even taking the time to arrange his feet on the footrest, even though he was furious with you. How that wasn’t normal behavior for Gamzee Makara, but treatment he reserved exclusively for her friend--Tavros was his name, wasn’t it?

And after she is consoled with this information, you can proceed to instruct her the ways of the hemospectrum, teach her proper respect and decorum towards her superiors. Now she is a wild, untamed hoofbeast--you want to be the first highblood to tame her.

You start to fantasize--you’ll teach her how to make you happy. You’ll teach her how to get on all fours on top of you, with her hot warmblood breath in your face and her hair falling all over your neck and your chest, tickling your skin. You’ll command her to crawl forwards and she’ll obligingly obey until her breasts, soft and smooth and ripe for milking, are on top of your mouth and you’ll suckle on them softly, careful to avoid nicking the skin with your jagged teeth--she’d be yours, but that doesn’t mean it’d be okay to damage such a fine product. And she’ll make a long, drawn-out noise that sounds like a whine, and you’ll assure her that you’re doing this for your own pleasure, not for hers, because as a lowblood it should be her highest honor to pamper you. And she’ll thank you for your kindness, and you’ll reward her for being such a good girl--

You’re starting to find it difficult to breathe, and you must’ve made some kind of weird noise in the back of your throat because Nepeta is suddenly looking at you curiously. You clear your throat and look away and try to wipe the sweat from your face before you drown from your fantasies about taming Aradia.

Little do you know, that very, very soon, taming will indeed take place--but you won’t be the one doing the taming.

→ BE KARKAT VANTAS

The fact that Sollux’s first reaction to Aradia’s dramatic exit is to call out, “AA, wait!” and begin to go after her is a testament to how much he loves her. I mean, she’s being a spiny bulge to him right now. It makes you want to slap yourself in frustration, and maybe slap Sollux too.

“Oh no you fucking don’t,” you say, lunging forward and catching Sollux in a firm headlock--not enough to hurt him, but enough to hold him in place. He struggles dramatically, kicking and scratching and--holy shit, did he just try to bite you? Fuck him!

“Get off me, KK, you fucking--AA needth me, she needth shooshpapping, are you fucking blind--let go, let go--”

“As the love expert in this room, I conclude that Aradia doesn’t need shooshpapping, she needs a kismesis and a fucking therapist,” you retort. Sollux is taller than you but also skinnier, and you are stronger than you look despite your shortness. It isn’t hard for you to keep him from running off. “And yes, I am still the fucking love expert no matter what you say, Sollux, if for no other reason than because I’m the only one out of all of us with even a semi-functional thinkpan. Now stop fucking scratching, fuckass!”

Sollux stops fucking scratching but his struggles don’t cease immediately. He continues to put up a fight for a good five minutes before he finally begins to calm down. Sighing, you firmly lead him away, sharing a knowing look with Kanaya and Nepeta and rolling your eyes at the blueblood, who’s still staring after Aradia. What the fuck is up with him anyway? You lead Sollux to a small alcove in another corner of the cave for more privacy.

Sollux immediately collapses onto the ground when you let go of him, yanking off his glasses and placing them on his lap as he buries his face in his hands.

“Dude, get a grip,” you tell him, sitting next to him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck--” he repeats, growling in distress.

“Sollux,” you say more firmly, “what the fuck are you even beating yourself up for? You didn’t do anything wrong--apart from being a complete fucktard to me. But after knowing you for so long I’m used to what a jerk you can be, and you’ve never felt remotely guilty about fucking me over before.”

“I’m the wortht moirail in the hithtory of moirailth,” he moans. “AA’th right, she needed me to thupport her and all I do ith open my big fat mouth and contradict the fuck out of her.”

“Aradia needs to get it in her inflated head that her moirail is allowed to have his own fucking opinion,” you retort. “It’s not like you’re her escort or something, that agrees to whatever shit she wants to say like some stupid bobblehead that nods every time she paps it. She said she’s pale for you because you’re not cheap, so this is what the bitch gets.”

“Don’t talk about AA like that,” he snaps at you, before continuing, “But I’m her moirail and look how I upthet I made her.”

“Wasn’t that the whole point of your fucking fight?” You roll your eyes. “How people hurt each other? You just proved your own fucking point, Sollux, congratu-fucking-lations.”

“What if she breakth up with me?” he blurts out. Then he buries himself even further into his hands. “Oh my gog, TV’th been captured by highbloodth and he can’t even fucking walk anymore and he’th on hith way to the fucking Capitol and--I’m worried about my quadrantth? What the fuck ith wrong with me?” And then, in a rare show of complete vulnerability, Sollux bursts into tears. You’ve never seen him like this before--he’s not being loud and dramatic, the way some people are when they cry, but golden streams are quietly cascading from his eyes and between his fingers and his breathing is just a little heavier than normal and soft sobs are almost gently racking his body, and fucking hell, this is just too pathetic and pitiful to watch.

“You’re fucking stupid, that’s what. For waiting this long to let it all out, you secret crybaby asshole,” you tell him, and you put a supportive arm around his shoulders. “And there’s nothing fucking wrong with worrying about the person you care the most about. And if there is, well fuck whoever says so, you should worry anyway, you have my fucking stamp of approval.” You keep uncharacteristically quiet after that, simply sitting there and allowing Sollux to ride out his crying spell.

The two of you don’t move for a good twenty minutes, and even though Sollux is still crying and you’re still just sitting there, an odd sort of peace comes over the two of you. Eventually, Sollux’s trembling starts to even outt. He wipes his face on his shirt, but you catch a glimpse of his splotchy eyes before he does so. It’s hard to tell, though, because of the lack of visible sclera in his mismatched lookstubs.

“Thanks, KK,” he says as he pries himself away from you, shoving his glasses back onto his face.

You roll your eyes in exasperation. “Shut up, you big baby. Who are you and what did you do to the massive asshole that I know?”

“I fucking meant that theriouthly and you’re thtill trying to be a dick?”

“I don’t have to fucking try to naturally exist as what I already am,” you say. “And I’m glad to see you actually have real emotions after all. Look how pathetic you are, crying over a girl.”

“It could be worthe. I could be crying over a boy,” he jokes weakly. “And if you’re trying to thay that you naturally exitht ath a dick, then I’m thorry you’re tho miniature-thized.”

“Fuck you!” you exclaim.

“Thucking you off would probably be free of the rithk of gagging--”

“Gog, I hate you so fucking much,” you cut him off, rolling your eyes. “I would punch you in the face right now if I hadn’t just found out that you’re emotionally retarded.”

“Love you too,” he shoots back, but suddenly there is an inexplicably weird tension in the air even though he probably meant those words sarcastically. At the moment it dawns upon you that this is the first time you and Sollux have ever spent time alone together. Considering that the two of you are such good friends, it is actually a little bit shocking.

But it’s true. Back on the platoon, there was never much in terms of privacy, crammed as you all were with the dozens of other young lowbloods who were your comrades. Sometimes you and the five others, including Sollux, would have some time alone together. Or, if the girls went off to talk about clothes and tea parties and roleplaying and other girly shit, you three boys--you, Sollux, and Tavros--would hang out together and talk about...stuff. Or insult each other. Now that think you think about it, it was mostly just you yelling and Sollux cracking nerdy jokes and Tavros umming and uhhing like an idiot. But Tavros is gone now, and you wonder if his innocent, stuttery presence was what was dispelling this strange, charged atmosphere between you and your psionic friend the entire time, or if this was something new, created by Tavros’s absence.

Sollux must feel it too, because he clears his throat loudly. “Go get my huthktop, KK,” he orders, his voice still a bit stuffy from his crying. “I need to get to work.”

There is tic of annoyance in your jaw as you stalk over to where Sollux’s backpack is lying on the ground and bring it over to him, but you don’t protest. “Are you going to try to find out about Tavros’s trial?” You dump the pack in his lap and he immediately pulls out his husktop and opens it up.

“I’ll get to that, but there’th thomething elthe I need to do firtht,” he explains. “Which ith, inthidentally,” he continues, sounding resigned and miserable, “thomething that AA would abtholutely kill me for.”

“What the fuck is that?” you ask curiously.

“Remember TV wanted me to find a way tho that TC could troll uth from hith own devithe?”

“TC? Who the ever-loving fuck is that, you pen pal lover?”

“No, it’th ‘terminallyCapriciouth’--that purpleblood’th Trollian handle.”

“Oh.” There is a tingly sensation in your bloodpusher at that particular revelation. You don’t want to analyze it right now; you are honestly sick and tired of feelings in general, for today. “So...you mean Gamzee?”

Sollux looks at you strangely for a few silent moments. “...Yeah,” he says. “I’m almotht done creating a new version of Pethterchum that I can thend excluthively to him. The only thing I have left to do ith to inthtall a bug that would erathe all traceth of the application on TC’th devithe if any other highbloodth found it thomehow--”

“Yeah, and then you’re gonna send a virus to all the husktops in Alternia and blow up the entire fucking planet, I get it, I get it. Save it with the nonsense codespeak, fucker,” you interrupt. “I suppose it’s a good thing you’re getting that done. It’s honestly disturbing to see that psychotic fuckass type with Tavros’s font color.”

“I’m thending it to him ath thoon ath I finish.”

“Just make sure you introduce yourself as the bipolar red-and-blue bee-fucker. He’ll know straight away who the fuck you are.”

Sollux rolls his eyes at you and begins typing away, his eyes fixated on the screen as they oft do when he is completely absorbed by his coding work. It’s almost like watching someone fall into a trance, and it’s honestly amazing, how he can go on for hours without so much as moving an inch--aside from his fingers flying across the keyboard, of course. It’s unhealthy, this way that he does things, but for once you don’t blame him for needing the distraction. Also, it had always been up to Tavros and Aradia to try to get Sollux to take breaks in the midst of his work, not you. So instead you sit down a few feet away from him and alternate between picking your nails and watching him work--you could, of course, go off and do something of your own, but Sollux is still in an unstable emotional state and you don’t want to leave him alone lest he do something to himself right now.

And so it surprises you that, not even ten minutes later, Sollux looks up from his screen. “KK?”

“Huh?”

“You jutht talked to TC, right? We can trutht him, right? We can really trutht him, right?”

There is a tone of desperation and hopefulness in his voice, and you realize that he needs your reassurance to proceed with this task, a task that goes directly against Aradia’s wishes. He wants to make sure that it’s worth risking his moirallegiance to trust Gamzee.

It makes you really fucking sad that he has to choose one over the other. All parties involved only want the best for Tavros. And you know that Tavros would be absolutely devastated if he found out that he was the root of the reason for an Aradia-Sollux break-up.

“Absolutely,” you tell him, surprising even yourself with your assuredness. “It doesn’t even matter what the honk-obsessed weirdo thinks about the fucking war. He’s definitely on our side.”

Sollux sags slightly in relief, but proceeds to ask, “Really? Why?”

You think for a moment, trying to figure out how to put it in words. There is really only one way. “He wants our fairy boy in his fucking quadrants.”

This time, Sollux perks up completely in surprise. “What?” he asks, shocked. “Fucking theriouthly? I thought that wath a joke--”

“Yeah, me too,” you sigh.

“TV, of all people. Thoundth like a fucking joke.” A pause. “Do you know which quadrant?”

“I have the an idea,” you admit. “Definitely not the one any of us would want. Not that I want Tavros in any of that fuckass’s quadrants.”

“Pitch?”

“Not even close. So fucking red it’s more mutated than my fucking blood.” You pause for a moment. “I’ll be honest with you and say it’s probably flushed.”

“TC didn’t thay?”

“I don’t think he even realizes.”

“Even if TV liveth it’ll never fucking happen.” Sollux is trying to state this is a fact, which it pretty much is, but the crack in his voice betrays his sadness.

You think about the way Gamzee begged and pleaded with you to figure out a way to help him save Tavros’s life, his passion as he talked about his feelings about your bronzeblood friend. You feel a painful stab to your bloodpusher. This is why you like romcoms, and not romantic tragedies. And why you prefer the people you know in real life not to be the main characters of either.

“Who knows,” you mutter.

→ BE GAMZEE MAKARA

“I could use my motherfucking chucklevoodoos to find out, you know. USE THE HARSHEST MOTHERFUCKING WHIMSY UP IN THEM PISSBLOOD PANS. And dig out those motherfucking secrets. LIKE WHICH ONE ON YOU HAS GOT SOME MOTHERFUCKING TELEPOWER TURNED ON IN YOUR FUCKING SELF. I could MOTHERFUCKING DO THAT and wreck your motherfucking pan TO MOTHERFUCKING SHREDS just to find the fuck out.”

You take a deep breath after your outburst. You know how you must look right now--sharp teeth bared, sclera a deep orange, perhaps almost crimson, in your anger. Because you are indeed MOTHERFUCKING ANGRY. You up and tried to be nice to these motherfuckers, you asked them politely which one of them was a motherfucking psionic. And you’ve been asking the same question for five minutes, over and over, and the response has been the same.

Complete silence.

The entire crowd of lowbloods, dozens upon dozens of them crammed into these metal contraptions that are supposed to be bunk beds, are all breathing as one, in complete silence and refusal to answer to your question. Dozens of pairs of eyes staring wide-eyed at you. All of them in fear. Of you.

They don’t get it. You motherfucking need a psionic to get yourself out of Lotam. But now they’re being uncooperative and they’re standing in the way of your getting to Tavros. And that is enough for you to want to CULL THE ENTIRE MOTHERFUCKING LOT--

“But I ain’t gonna motherfucking do that,” you sigh in resignation. “I ain’t gonna use my motherfucking voodoos on any motherfucker here. I suppose that wouldn’t be real polite, would it? Tavros taught me some about mercy today. I ain’t got my full motherfucking understand on for that particular subject but it got something to do with doing something you didn’t have to do just to be nice. Or maybe not doing something you coulda done, just to be nice. So I ain’t voodooing your blasphemous asses. Gotta do the motherfucking thing that would make him happy. Ya feel?”

Your monologue was more for yourself than anyone else. You certainly didn’t expect anyone to reply, especially after the consistent silence that had answered everything else that you had said thus far. But reply someone does, and even though the voice is dry and raspy and cracking and broken, it is more chipper than you would have expected--almost alarmingly so.

“Sure, I feel ya, highblood.”

You start at the unexpected voice, and it appears you are not alone in your surprise. Soft murmurs of shock and fear travelling all around the crowded tent, even though no one is brave enough to speak up in response.

And from somewhere in the back of the tent, there is are sounds of gasping, of bodies knocking into one another and of stumbling--and lo and behold, out into the front of the crowd, right in front of you, come two yellowbloods, crawling out.

Or more like one yellowblood crawling out, and another smaller yellowblood clinging desperately to the former’s leg, as if trying to prevent him from making his way forward, to no avail. Both of them look more like skeletons than trolls, an indication that they’ve been prisoners of Lotam for a long time--and missing horns. You take a moment to pity the fate of captured goldbloods, for whom the horn-removal process must be double the agony.

“Folykl, get off me!” the first yellowblood says, trying to shake his companion off. You recognize from the sound of his voice that he was the one who responded to your soliloquy about mercy.

“Kuprum, no!” the other troll cries in despair. “You can’t, you’ll get yourself killed--”

“This is an opportunity, Folykl!” Kuprum says.

“This is a trap!”

“Ain’t no motherfucking trap I’m up and leading your motherfucking self,” you try to reassure, feeling inexplicably awkward at the two goldblood trolls’ behavior. “I just need a little motherfucking favor.”

“See, he needs a favor, a favor involving psionics!” Kuprum says. “He would’ve killed us a long time ago if that was his intention. He’s a subjugglator! He doesn’t need to trick us to kill us. Besides, he’s new here. Haven’t seen him before. Maybe he’s different.”

“You never know, the purplebloods always favor a joke--” Folykl protests.

“I’ve been suppressing my powers for too long. I’ll take any chance I can get to use them again!” Kuprum argues, before turning towards you. You swallow at the sight of his yellow and purple eyes. They protrude almost ominously out of his skull, because he is so thin from undernourishment that his skin clings to his bones like wet paper. His teeth are bared from the smile that he is wearing--a smile that would probably look enthusiastic on a healthy troll, but on him it just looks eerie. “Highblood, I am a psionic, at your service,” he says to you breathily.

“Motherfucker, you coulda saved my speechbox a lot of motherfucking yelling if you'd come forward earlier,” you say.

"Highblood, highblood!” his companion screams, throwing herself onto the ground at your feet. Folykl is just as emaciated as Kuprum, but at least her devastated expression matches her body’s wretched state. “Please have mercy, please don't take Kuprum, he's not quite--not quite right in the head.”

“I'm already being all kinds of motherfucking merciful,” you say, frowning. Hadn't you already explained that already?

“Please, take me instead--” she grovels.

“Well…” you say, scratching the back of your head. “You a motherfucking psionic, sister?”

“Yes I--” she starts to say--

“No, she isnt,” Kuprum interrupts vehemently, taking you by surprise. “I’ll get your job done just fine, no need to drag her into this.”

“Please, not Kuprum, please don’t take him away from me, not after all this, all this time--” Folykyl continues to beg you.

“Folykl!” Kuprum reprimands sharply. “You’re being a terrible embarrassment. Stop it!”

“We worked so hard, so hard, to keep out of trouble, now you’re just throwing it away--”

“No, I’m tired of waiting around to die. There’s no dignity in that.” Kuprum says.

“But you have the most skewed sense of dignity out of anyone that I’ve ever met--”

“Highblood, please don’t mind her,” Kuprum says, resolutely turning his back on his companion. “She’s, er...what was it that she said? Not quite...right in the head. Ha. Anyway, I’d be honored to offer my services to you.”

“Just a small motherfucking favor is all this clown’s up and needing today,” you assure him, trying to keep your composure. “Come on to my motherfucking respiteblock, don’t want no motherfucking snoops like the twins walking in on us out in this here open.” You gesture for him to follow you.

The rest of the lowbloods in the tent are quiet as death as they watch one of their own depart with you willingly. Folykl, however, is not willing to stand by and watch what she believes is a subjugglator leading Kuprum to his execution. She crawls along the dirty ground at a surprisingly quick speed and latches onto your leg. “NO, please, have mercy, don’t take him away from me, he’s all I have left!”

Unpleasantly startled by her bold decision to grab you, you draw your clubs, mostly out of instinct. Several of your spectators scream as well. “DON’T MOTHERFUCKING TOUCH ME, PISSBLOOD!” you shout at her. “I ALREADY MOTHERFUCKING TOLD YOU, I BE MOTHERFUCKING OVERFLOWING WITH THE MERCIFUL SHIT.”

Folykl does not react, but then Kuprum says, “Highblood, please, don’t hurt her, she doesn’t mean any harm.” For the first time since you’ve met him, there is a frantic trace of fear in his scratchy voice.

You wait a few moments before speaking again. Folykl and Kuprum’s respectively desperate and excitable emotions are seeping into your thinkpan and it’s giving you a headache. You want to use your chucklevoodoos to shut them up, but no, you can’t do that. “It won’t be motherfucking long, sister,” you say to Folykl when you find your voice again. “I’ll bring your brother here back to you once I’m motherfucking done with him.”

You must have said something wrong, because Folykl’s response to this is to grab onto you even harder, going so far as to dig jagged nails into the flesh of your leg, and let out a long, high-pitched, hysteric wail. The sound pierces your spongeclots and sends chills to your very bones, so, again out of instinct, you lash out at her with your chucklevoodoos and force her to sleep. She immediately stops screaming and thrashing and slumps in a heap onto the floor, limp and boneless.

The surrounding crowd of lowbloods starts raising a ruckus as they observe the spectacle, and you, unable to bear their terrified judgment any longer, grab Kuprum by the scruff of the neck and drag him out of the tent toward your respiteblock.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER--” he shouts, losing his composure for the first time.

“Motherfucking quiet!” you hiss, glancing around. Fortunately, the coast is clear. “Karbrother said not to be seen by the other purpleblood motherfuckers, can’t let them get their know on for the miracles we got cracking. Unless you favor some unmiraculous punishment and culling, brother.”

“Who’s Karbrother?” Kuprum asks, not yelling any longer but still loud, so you clap a hand over his mouth.

“I motherfucking said quiet!” You hurry on to your respiteblock without running into anybody else, and once you are inside, you dump Kuprum on the floor. “I didn’t hurt your Foly-sister none, motherfucker. Just made her get her miraculous sleep on to stop her wild motherfucking racket.”

“So she’s okay?” he asks, visibly relaxing.

“She’s just motherfucking fine,” you assure him, but he’s not focusing on you any longer. Instead, he’s staring at a plate of food that you’d left on the floor near the door. When Barzum and Baizli and the other subjugglators had invited you to join them for dinner, you’d declined, but they’d still insisted that you take a plate back to your room. Of course, after a long and exhausting day of horn-sawing, you’d had no appetite for the soggy grubloaf.

“Something...the motherfucking matter?” you ask Kuprum, again feeling distinctly awkward.

“Oh...ha, ha! It’s n-nothing!” he laughs fakely, not taking his bulging eyes off of the meal. He swallows loudly, and the saggy skin on his neck moves up and down the shaft of his throat.

“If a motherfucker’s hungry, all ya have to do is motherfucking help yourself,” you tell him. “That pile of shit don’t look too good for this clown’s acid tracts, anyway--”

But you don’t get to finish your sentence before Kuprum is lunging at the food, positively inhaling it at a pace you hadn’t thought physically possible. Even though there’s a knife and fork lying across the plate, he pays them no mind and stuffs his mouth with his bare hands, not bothering with the mess he’s making on himself and on the floor. The grubloaf can’t be that delicious; he must be ravenous. The sight reminds of you a starved barkbeast tearing through trash cans, and for one moment, you feel disgust. In the next moment, you feel a crippling sadness as you wonder if this is what Tavros would have been reduced to had he stayed in Lotam any longer.

“Motherfucker looks like you ain’t got any food consumption on for days,” you comment awkwardly.

“That’s because I haven’t,” he informs you.

You have no idea what to say.

\-----

After Kuprum finishes eating, you offer to let him use the ablutionblock to clean himself up. At first, he refuses, thanking you for your generous offer, but when you admit that he reeks so motherfucking badly that you can’t focus, he grins and agrees.

You lie on the floor with your eyes open as you wait for him to finish bathing, thinking about all the times you helped Tavros into the ablution trap back at the army camp, the feeling of his fluffy hair between your fingers, the ridges of his spine when you helped lather soap onto the parts of his back that he couldn’t reach, the smooth skin on his legs that he couldn’t feel but felt so warm and just so goddamn pitiable in your hands--

“Highblood,” Kuprum says, interrupting you from your thoughts. You were so distracted that you hadn’t even noticed when he exited the ablutionblock. He still looks terrible, but at least he isn’t covered in grime and doesn’t smell like his own waste anymore.

You sit up and eye him warily for a moment, trying to think of what even to say to this strange goldblood. But you don’t have the chance, because there he goes opening his own mouth and letting loose that tongue.

“Thank you for allowing me to freshen up, highblood. Now that I am more...presentable, allow me to explain why it was such a smart decision on your part to conscript my services. You’ll be hard-pressed to find a psionic as powerful as I am. There is so much that I can offer the empire, but unfortunately I’ve escaped the attention of most of the guards here. If the empire were to draft me as a helmsman, I promise I can and will contribute significantly to the war effort--”

“The motherfucking war effort?” you interrupt, dumbfounded. “What miracles are you blabbering from that tiny motherfucking speechbox of yours?” You suddenly realize that he’s trying to sway you; he thinks you’re loyal to the High Side. “Ain’t no motherfucking necessity to kiss ass, brother; I’m on your miraculous side.”

This time, it’s Kuprum’s turn to look dumbfounded. “My...side? What side?” And then his bicolored eyes widen almost comically. “You’re talking about...the Low Side?”

“That is motherfucking correct, brother.”

Kuprum doesn’t say anything in response to that. You expect him to react with joy, or suspicion, or some combination of the two, but all he seems to be feeling up in his pan is a bemusing combination of shock, amusement, and…disappointment?

But...that’s not possible, right? Why would he be disappointed to find out that you’re an ally?

“And they put this motherfucking device on me, as a mechanism of motherfucking caution,” you continue, gesturing to the abominable metal-and-plastic collar. “Don’t want this motherfucker un-spiralling those harshwhimsies on their weakblooded pans, is my motherfucking assumption, and they ain’t that far from the motherfucking right because THE MOST UNMIRACULOUS OF FEELINGS IS WHAT THIS CLOWN WANTS THEM TO UP AND FEEL.”

Kuprum jumps slightly at your sudden outburst, but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, you feel his eyes sliding over to the device on your neck. “Is that a sopor collar?” he asks, his voice guarded and even. “Why would they even put that on you? Wouldn’t they have culled you right away for being a traitor?”

“Those motherfuckers ain’t got their motherfucking know on for my treasonous intentions,” you say, unable to help the crazed smile that plays on your lips as you say this. “But they put it on me because I up and got my motherfucking attack for some of the other purpleblooded clowns.”

Suddenly Kuprum is smiling again. “You are different after all,” he mutters. You don’t know if it is your imagination or not, but where he looked enthusiastic before, he now looks sinister. “Tell me more,” he says, licking his lips. “In fact, backtrack a little bit. Why are you even on the Low Side?”

At first, you want to tell him that it’s none of his motherfucking business, but...if you need this guy to trust you and help you, you suppose you’re going to need to give him a plausible reason. At this moment, your ticket out of Lotam does depend on him, after all. “A lowblood miracle showed up in this motherfucker’s life and showed him the right direction, brother. Opened these purple eyelids to the way the High Side be up and destroying miracles.”

“Hmm...a quadrant, then.”

You start a little at his assumption, and automatically open your mouth to deny it, but then you remember the lie that you’re going to have to feed to the Capitol. You might as well practice now. “...Yeah. Kismesis,” you say, even though the word leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“You actually took a lowblood as your quadrant?” Kuprum asks, sounding endlessly amused now.

“...Yes.”

“Why? Purpleblood like you, I bet you’ve got all kinds of ladies and gents chasing after you.”

“But I don’t give any motherfucks about those bitches,” you retort. “Tavros is different.” Pitiable. “Interesting. Blood all up and so motherfucking warm...touching him all be like, burning myself, you know?” You try to sound frustrated, because that’s how people feel about their pitch quadrants, right? Motherfucking frustrated? Honestly, you’re more frustrated at yourself right now. “And the way his legs don’t work, you know, it’s just so...so motherfucking…”

Disgusting is the first word that comes to your pan, because it’s the very word that Tavros so horribly feared that you would feel about him when he first learned that his disability was permanent. You can’t bring yourself to say it; you hate yourself for even thinking it, even though that’s the last thing you could ever bring yourself to feel about that bronzeblood.

“So it’s the one who ‘taught you mercy’,” Kuprum deducts, remembering your little speech from earlier. “I think I know who you’re talking about. Some kid showed up here...what was it? Yesterday? He had on these polka-dotted pants that were freaking everyone the fuck out, like they thought he was a High Side spy or something? Idiots. Anyway, you said his legs don’t work, right? It would explain why he was dragging himself around instead of walking like a normal troll.”

Your bloodpusher is skipping so many beats that you’re surprised you’re still breathing. “And really large motherfucking horns? Real tiny little troll but goddamn miracles growing out of his head like a bull?” you ask breathlessly. “You said he was dragging himself around? WHY DIDN’T YOU MOTHERFUCKING HELP A BROTHER?”

“I didn’t know who he was!” Kuprum protests. “Besides, this rustblood ended up helping him out so I figured it was none of my fucking business. You missed him, highblood. He and the rustblood both left early this evening.”

“I MOTHERFUCKING KNOW,” you shout, frustrated. “That’s why I need your motherfucking help. They’re up and taking him to the Capitol for a motherfucking trial. They don’t want to let this clown go the bitchtits city with him but I don’t give a shit about the Empress’s motherfucking orders anymore. I’m gonna get my follow for Tavros straight on to the Capitol courtroom but I need you to disable this fucking thing--” you wring the device around your neck--”if I want Karbrother’s plan to gain any motherfucking traction! He said--he said a psionic could do it.”

And then Kuprum bursts out in a full-bodied, grating laugh: it is the hysterical guffaw of someone who has just heard a hilarious joke. “For the first time--” he wheezes--”in Alternian history--a lowblood--has the upper hand over a--a purpleblood.” He looks at you with mirth in his eyes. “I could rat you out, you know. My word, and everything would be over for you and your crippled boyfriend.”

But--but--why would he--no he CAN’T--

“I’LL MOTHERFUCKING KILL YOU!” you explode, but this time he continues on grinning, unfazed. “I’LL MOTHERFUCKING BEAT YOU SENSELESS THE SAME MOTHERFUCKING WAY I CULLED THE CAPTAIN--”

“Go ahead!” Kuprum shouts, holding his arms out and looking crazed. “I have nothing to lose. Either you kill me or I spend the rest of my sweeps in this awful place. That’d be the merciful thing to, Tavros would be so proud. Tch.” He laughs again at your stricken expression. “Besides, you need me. You can’t go to the Capitol with that ring around your neck, can you? They’ll shoot you full of sopor before you take your first step.”

“I’ll cull you first and I’ll find another one--another motherfucking pissblood psionic--”

“As if anyone else would come forward to help you, highblood.”

You are sputtering by now, at a complete loss for what to say.

“Don’t look so miserable, highblood,” Kuprum says. “I didn’t say I’d rat you out. I only said I could.”

You glare at him, still trying to catch your breath from when it’d spun out of your control in your panic. “Then--why the motherfuck would you say a motherfucking THING LIKE THAT--”

“Because I want you to make a deal with me,” Kuprum says calmly, and your mouth drops open because Jegus, this goldblood is one cunning motherfucking fuck. “I’ll help you with that sopor collar, but you know, that’s going directly against the Capitol’s orders, apparently. So what’s in it for me?”

You open your mouth to protest, but then you stop short. He wants something in return? That isn’t so bad, especially after he threatened to expose your plans. “Protection,” you gasp. “I’ll take you away with me when I get my departure on for the Capitol. This awful place ain’t gonna have your ass in it for much longer if you help me out, motherfucker.”

He taps his chin, contemplating your offer. “So I’d be your slave?”

You jolt, because you remember Tavros asking you the exact same question. However, there is so much more at stake now than when your little miracle asked it. “Yes,” you reply, “but only in the motherfucking title. I don’t give no motherfucking slaves orders of any kind, so you can go about being your own free self back in my Capitol hive.”

Kuprum stands up. “Relax, highblood. I’d take being your slave over being a Lotam prisoner any day.”

“So it’s a motherfucking deal?”

“Mmm...not quite. I’ll take it...if you agree to take Folykl with us, too.”

You fall silent for a moment. “She a quadrant?”

He raises his eyebrows at you. “Something like that.”

“I’ll take her as long as you keep that screaming speechbox of hers motherfucking quiet.”

“Is that an order, highblood? I’ll do my best,” Kuprum chuckles. “It’s a deal. Now stay still, this’ll only take a moment but I don’t want to electrocute you by accident.”

You hold still and wait for Kuprum to do his thing with bated breath. He holds his hand out and you hear the telltale crackle of psionic power, but before he does anything he suddenly says, in it much more serious and subdued voice, “Tavros isn’t your kismesis, is he?”

“What?” you sputter, taken off guard. “Course he is, he’s my motherfucking quadrant--”

“Yeah, but not that quadrant,” Kuprum interrupts. “You’re gonna have to do a lot better than that to make it believable. Tell them you think his blood--his disability, whatever--is disgusting. You can’t be afraid to say it.”

You are at a loss for words, because how did this goldblood read your motherfucking mind?

Or are you really just that transparent?

And then Kuprum sighs. “You and I are more alike than you think, highblood. I know exactly what it’s like to be doing something only for the sake of somebody else.”

\-----

You take Kuprum back to the prisoners’ tent after he disables the sopor collar; the two of you agree that even though it’s been deactivated, you should leave it around your neck lest the other subjugglators take notice of its absence the next day. You still have to get through one full day here at Lotam, after all. You don’t thank him for his efforts; the freedom that you’re giving him in return is more than enough compensation for his sly ass. Besides, he really creeps you out and makes you uncomfortable somehow. In the past, you would have culled anyone who made you feel this way. But you can’t do that anymore, not with your little bronzeblood miracle on the line.

You dump him on top of Folykl, who is still lying on the ground in the same position that you left her. You wonder if Folykl is Kuprum’s “someone else”, and what it is that he’s doing only for her sake. You use your voodoos to put him to sleep as well, just so you won’t have to hear his voice any longer.

It is rather late in the morning when you make it back to your respiteblock, and you want nothing more than to collapse in the recuperacoon and escape reality, if only for a few measly hours. But something tells you to check yours and Tavros’s palmhusks before sleeping.

Tavros doesn't have any new notifications, but to your surprise, you have new messages from centaursTesticle on your own palmhusk. You grit your teeth, wondering what the sweaty indigoblood could possibly want from you, but when you open up the pesters you are surprised.

centaursTesticle [CT] began trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]

CT: hey TC  
CT: fyii thii2 ii2n’t the blueblood iit’2 2ollux the biipolar red and blue bee fucker  
CT: ii don’t fuck bee2  
CT: anyway2 download thii2 chat app onto your palmhu2k 2o you don't have two u2e TV’2 deviice two get iin touch wiith u2  
CT: pe2terchum2.0.exe  
CT: you 2hould pe2ter KK 2oon two giive hiim an update on the 2iituatiion before he ha2 a hi22y fit  
CT: or the two of you can 2ext and ma2turbate twogether whatever float2 your boat  
CT: my handle ii2 twinArmageddons iif you need anythiing but plea2e try two bother KK and not me iif you can help iit  
CT: don’t pe2ter apocalypseArisen  
CT: ok bye TC

centaursTesticle [CT] ceased trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]

You wonder why this Sollux fellow would think that you would want to…masturbate with your mutantblood brother. But you put it out of your mind and download the application that he sent you.

The program opens, and it looks remarkably similar to Trollian, but you only have six contacts in Pesterchum 2.0. The very first one, displayed in rust red text, is apocalypseArisen. You wonder why you shouldn't pester her.

You open a new chat window.

terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

TC: ThEm GoLdBlOoD mOtHeRfUcKeRs SuRe ArE wEiRd.  
TC: InCluDiNg YoUr ReD aNd BlUe FrIeNd.  
TC: I jUsT hAd A yElLoW aNd PuRpLe MoThErFuCkEr HeLp Me OuT wItH tHe CoLlAr SiTuAtIoN.  
TC: aNd It Be LoOkInG lIkE tHiS mOtHeRfUcKeR gOt TwO nEw PiSsBlOoD sLaVeS aS tHe MoThErFuCkIn ReSuLt.  
TC: :o(

You wait a few minutes for him to reply, but he doesn't. You are slightly disappointed, but it is pretty late so it's not all that surprising.

terminallyCapricious [TC] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

You are about to exit the application, but then you notice that adiosToreador is one of your contacts, displayed in your favorite shade of brown.

terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling adiosToreador [AT]

TC: HeY tAvBrO  
TC: I rEaLlY mOtHeRfUcKiN mIsS yOu. :o(  
TC: BuT dOn’T wOrRy, ThIs MoThErFuCkEr’S cOmInG tO gEt YoU sOoN.  
TC: sIt TiGhT

You stare at the screen, willing him to reply you even though you know that's impossible; the fact that his palmhusk screen is lighting up right next to you with your messages should be indication enough. You feel stupid and hopeless at the same time; purple tears prick your eyes.

Before they have a chance to fall, however, your palmhusk lights up with a new notification. At first, you think that Karkat’s replied you, but your new messages come from Trollian; not Pesterchum 2.0.

cuttlefishCuller [CC] began trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]

CC: GAMZ-E-E!  
CC: I just arrived in t)(e Capitol and t)(ese glubbers wont tell me w)(ats going on!  
CC: Im so WORRI-ED! 38(  
CC: W)(ere are you and tavros rig)(t now?  
CC: Is everyfin ok?


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A walk down memory lane: who remembers the days when I used to churn out new chapters every three days? I miss those days.
> 
> BUT. I have a legitimate excuse for my lateness this time! I just celebrated Chinese New Year (who was born in the Year of the Dog?) and I also MY BIRTHDAY! :) How old am I? Well, old enough to finally watch porn (legally). FUCK YES! LMAO
> 
> I say this every time but I'll try to update the next chapter quicker. 
> 
> Art for this chapter at: https://yzydragon2222.deviantart.com/art/MoThErFuCk-DaAaAaAaMn-GiRl-732997140
> 
> And a BIG THANK YOU and ALL the hugs and kisses to inheritedpancakes, who drew some amazing fanart for this story as a birthday gift! Check it out  
> Here: https://inheritedpancakes.deviantart.com/art/Gift-for-yzydragon2222-1-732288650  
> Here: https://inheritedpancakes.deviantart.com/art/Gift-2-732289777  
> And here! https://inheritedpancakes.deviantart.com/art/Gift-3-732290499

Chapter 17

→ BE GAMZEE MAKARA

Your initial reaction is to ignore the fuchsiablood troll; you don’t want to have anything to do with anyone on the High Side right now. But then it hits you like a truck--the memory of Feferi declaring her desire to abscond with you and Tavros; her fruitless, but nevertheless noteworthy, efforts to convince the helmsman on the hovercraft to redirect the course of travel away from the Capitol...perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss her.

TC: My MoThErFuCkIn FiShY sIsTeR.  
TC: I’d MoThErFuCkIn SuGgEsT tHaT a SiStEr gEt HeR MoThErFuCkIn ChIlL oN, bUt I gUeSs I aIn’T iN nO mOtHeRfUcKiN pOsItIoN tO dO tHe SuGgEsTiNg.  
TC: My SuPpLy Of MiRaCuLoUs ChIlLnEsS Is RuNnInG lOw As A rUsTbLoOd WiGgLeR.

CC: O)( my cod Gamzee, t)(ank goodness you replied!

TC: HoNk.

CC: I wouldve gone crazy if i was kelpt in the dark for any longer!  
CC: Are you all rig)(t? 38O

TC: LaSt I sEeN oF mY sIsTeR, yOu WeRe On YoUr MoThErFuCkIn KnEeS fRoM mY ChUcKlEvOoDoOs.  
TC: So I sOrTa GoT mY sUrPrIsE oN fOr AlL tHe MoThErFuCkIn InTeRrOgAtIoN aBoUt My LeVeL oF aLl RiGhT.  
TC: I tHoUgHt A hIgH aNd MiGhTy SeAdWeLlInG fUcHsIa tRoLl WoUlD bE gEtTiNg HeR rAgE oN aT mE nOw ThAt yOu’Re BaCk In ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN cItY.

CC: Glub, clam up about my blood color already! 38(  
CC: And being in the capitol doesnt c)(ange anyfin! Im still youre friend.

You swallow at this. Other than Tavros, no one’s worried about you before, or even had the slightest positive thought directed at you. And most certainly no one else has ever called you a friend.

TC: We’Re MoTheRfUcKiN fRiEnDs?

CC: W)(ale, after everyfin that )(appened, i shore )(ope so!

You and Feferi have indeed known each other for a long time. But the two of you never shared much of a meaningful relationship for all the time you’d been soldiers on the same platoon. It was more of a tenuous alliance, or a I’ll-leave-you-alone-if-you-leave-me-alone, sort of thing. You only started communicating with her regularly after Tavros arrived at the camp, and that had only lasted for a few weeks and now she’s calling you a friend.

Those days back on the platoon, when you and Tavros had your own safe place within the confines of your tent, seem so far away. When your biggest worries were nosy motherfuckers like Equius barging in on your tent, or Vriska harassing Tavros with cruel words. When you didn't have to worry about the real world, about purplebloods like Chahut and the twins, about the Capitol, about the Empress. When Feferi was always there to take care of Tavros when he was unwell, her concern for him unconditional, even though you never gave her anything in return for her help besides a really bad attitude. And now you suddenly feel bad for treating her that way. And of course for using your chucklevoodoos on her. True, you never hurt Feferi as badly as you did Equius, who you tried to strangle and whose horn you broke, but come on--that indigoblood motherfucker had it coming anyway.

TC: SoRrY. :o(

CC: )(u)(? W)(at for?

TC: FoR aLl KiNdS oF mY uNmIrAcUlOuS bEhAvIoR tOwArDs YoUr SeLf.  
TC: YoU nEvEr HaD aNy Of ThOsE bAd InTeNtIoNs FoR tAv.  
TC: AnD i JuSt GoT mY rEaLiZe On ThAt I nEvEr WaS a ReAl GoOd MoThErFuCkeR.

And this epiphany makes you sad and guilty. You had never seen yourself as a bad troll before--you always thought your actions, violent as they were, were righteous, because they were what the messiahs in your head were telling you to do. But now, in the hour of your greatest need, the messiahs have withdrawn their guidance, leaving you to fend for yourself as Tavros is taken away from you. Where there were always mirthful whispers in your pan before, there is now either an unintelligible cacophony of voices or an empty silence. And in place of the silence, you’ve become more aware of how the *real world* works, more mindful of how you and your behavior are perceived by others. And one of your epiphanies is that you’re not so high and mighty like you thought; you’re pretty bad and rotten if you’re honest with yourself.

CC: W)(ale, t)(at was certainly unexpected, coming from you!  
CC: I wouldve forgiven you even if you )(adnt apologized. But im proud of you for doing it anywave, and youre lucky because not everyone is as nice as i am! 38)  
CC: Ill admit t)(at i was just a teeny tiny bit upset at you for making tavros sick for all t)(ose weeks. And for using your c)(ucklevoodoos on me, mister!  
CC: So w)(en i sea you again, im going to kick you in the you know w)(ere!

TC: OuCh MoThErFuCkEr.

CC: R-E-ELY R-E-ELY )(ARD!

TC: FuUuUuUuUuUuUcK.

CC: And T)(-EN we’ll be even! 38)

TC: CaN i UsE a MoThErFuCkIn CoD pIeCe WhEn ThAt HaPpEnS?

CC: ABSOLUT-ELY NOT, MIST-ER!  
CC: You wont be able to walk straig)(t for a week!

TC: ThAt AiN’T sO bAd If It WeReN’t FoR tHe MoThErFuCkIn AgOnY.  
TC: Me AnD tAv CaN aLl Up AnD mOtHeRfUcKiN mAtCh.  
TC: I bEtTeR sTaRt ShoPpIn FoR aNoThEr WiCkEd SeT oF wHeElS tHeN.  
TC: If AlL gOeS aS tHe BiTcHtItS pLaN wE’lL bE sEeInG mY fRiEnDLy FiSh SiStEr ReAl mOthErFuCkIn SoOn.

CC: Plan? W)(at plan?

You give Feferi an abbreviated version of what’s happened since you last saw her, starting from when the twins injected you with sopor, all the way up to your little encounter with Kuprum. She doesn’t reply for several long moments after you finish relaying all the details.

CC: POOR TAVROS! 38(  
CC: I would feel so muc)( better if he were wit)( you rig)(t now. At least you would be able to protect )(im from t)(ose ot)(er M-EAN NASTY PURPL-EBLOODS!  
CC: No offense to you of course gamzee.

TC: NoNe Of ThAt MoThErFuCkIn OfFeNsE tAkEn In ThE tRuTh, SiStEr.  
TC: I gOt A wHoLe MoThErFuCkIn LoT mOrE tO sAy AbOuT tHoSe BiTcHeS tHaN mEaN aNd NaStY.

CC: )(e must be so scared rig)(t now! W)(y are t)(ey doing t)(is to )(im? )(e never did anyfin wrong!  
CC: And im really worried about your plan! -Everyfin is so risky. T)(eres so muc)( t)(at could go wrong!  
CC: You said tavros's friend )(elped you out rig)(t? From the low side?

TC: IS THAT A MOTHERFUCKIN PROBLEM WITH A SISTER.

CC: No, not at all, please dont get me wrong gamzee! Im just curious! Is it t)(e jadeblood we met t)(e ot)(er day?

TC: No, It WaSn’T tHaT sNoBbY aSs BiTcH.  
TC: It WaS a BrOtHeR wItH a ReAl mIrAcUlOuS wAy Of TaLkIn.

CC: You s)(ouldnt say t)(at about t)(e jadeblood…  
CC: Alt)(oug)( i didnt like )(er t)(at muc)( eit)(her. I S-ERIOUSLY T)(OUG)(T S)(-E WAS GONNA KRILL M-E!  
CC: But we s)(ouldnt judge too )(ars)(ly since t)(e circumstances were pretty glubbing bad!

TC: WaS tHe OpPoSiTe Of MiRaClEs ThAt MaDe KaRbRoThEr GeT hIs TaLk On WiTh ThIs ClOwN. bUt He WeReN’T nO fUcKiNg GrEeNbLoOd BiTcH.  
TC: MoThErFuCkEr Up AnD tRiEd To MaKe AlL hImSeLf UnLiKaBlE wHiCh MaDe HiM pReTtY mOtHeRfUcKiN mIrAcUlOuSlY lIkAbLe.

CC: )(u)(...  
CC: I dont know, all of the lowbloods seem like reely interesting trolls!  
CC: )(onestly im more curious about tavros’s intelligent friend.

TC: WhO?

CC: I t)(ink tavros said )(is name is sollux!

TC: Oh ThAt MoThErFuCkEr.

CC: )(u)(? )(ave you talked to )(im too?

TC: SoRtA.  
TC: WeIrD aSs MoThErFuCkEr WhO fIlLs BuCkEtS wItH bEeS wItHoUt FuCkIn ‘Em. Or SoMeThInG oF tHaT mIrAcUlOuS pErSuAsIoN.

CC: UMM OKAY…  
CC: W)(ale t)(at sounds painful!

TC: HoNk.

CC: As curious as i am about t)(at particular topic…  
CC: I t)(ink we need to talk about more urgent stuff rig)(t now!  
CC: It reely worries me t)(at you’re going against the empress’s orders to come back.  
CC: W)(at if you get in troububble?

TC: ThAt MoThErFuCkIn TrOuBlE cAn BoUnCe OfF tHe ClOwN lIkE jUgGlIn PiNs MaDe OuTtA mOtHeRfUcKiN JeLlO.  
TC: CaUsE tAvBrO’s Up AnD gOt HiMsElF eVeN dEePeR iN tHaT sHiT.

CC: W)(ale i know that but…  
CC: I don’t know, gamzee. It doesnt seem like you enjoy being in the army at all.  
CC: W)(y don’t you just resign and be done wit)( it?  
CC: T)(en you wouldn’t )(ave to get in troububble for coming back, eit)(er!

TC: ThAt WoUlD aLl Up AnD bE a MoThErFuCkIn SmArT iDeA, fIsHsIs.  
TC: BuT iT aIn’T lIkE tRyInG tO cAlL qUiTs On ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN sOlDiEr AcT iS sOmEtHiNg I hAvEn’T uP aNd TrIeD bEfOrE.  
TC: BuT tHe ReQuEsT wAs MoThErFuCkIn DeNiEd.

You tried to resign two times, not long after you had been enlisted in the first place. The first time your request was denied, you were pretty sure that the subjugglators back home had definitely given bribes to the government officials to keep you snugly in the battlefield and away from home, where your abilities posed a threat to their positions of power. That was how much they genuinely feared and despised you. By your second attempt, word of your formidable fighting abilities had probably reached the Empress herself, and no way were they going to let you end your service before every drop of your lowblood-murdering powers’ worth had been milked--which meant you would probably only be allowed home either after the War ended, or when you were killed in battle. By that time, you had begun to enjoy the ironic freedom and privacy of army life more than stuffy Capitol ongoings, so you didn’t really care anymore that you weren’t allowed to leave.

CC: W)(at? But w)(y?

TC: It’S wHaT hApPeNs WhEn YoU’rE tOo GoOd At CuLlInG lOwBlOoD mOtHeRfUcKeRs.

CC: You’re pretty good at krilling ANYBODY, not just lowbloods, but…  
CC: I guess i sea t)(eir point.  
CC: STILL! T)(at’s so unfair for you. 38(  
CC: But t)(ere’s nothing we can do about t)(at rig)(t now i guess.  
CC: Can’t you just request a leave of absence t)(en?

TC: ThOsE tAkE tWo MoThErFuCkIn WeEkS tO pRoCeSs At ThE lEaSt, SiStEr.  
TC: AnD fOr AlL mY mOtHeRfUcKiN hIgHbLoOdEdNeSs I aIn’T gOt No MoThErFuCkIn MeAnS tO aFfOrD tHiS kInD oF tImE.  
TC: CaUsE tWo MoThErFuCkIn WeEkS iS a FuCk Of A lOt LoNgEr tHaN fOuR dAyS. aNd ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN tRiAl Is GeTtIn ItS hApPeNiN oN iN tHe CaPiToL iN fOuR dAyS.

CC: O)( glub!  
CC: And t)(at’s anot)(er t)(ing!  
CC: -Even if you do manage to make it onto t)(e next Capitol s)(ipment, w)(at if you don’t make it back in time? Because the trial is on t)(e same day t)(at you’re arriving.

TC: ...

You are stumped. You hadn’t really considered the possibility that, perhaps, by the time you arrived in the Capitol, Tavros’s trial would already be over, your little miracle already condemned to a hellish fate by the court’s decree...

You swiftly remove that thought from your pan. You simply won’t have it. You’re going back to the Capitol and you’re saving Tavros and that is motherfucking FINAL.

TC: ThIs MoThErFuCkEr’S sHaRp As ThE eMpReSs’S mOtHeRfUcKiN tRiDeNt WhEn It CoMeS tO TiMeLiNeSs.

CC: Gamzee…  
CC: It’s good to stay positive but we also need to be realistic! We need to )(ave a backup plan in case somefin goes wrong.  
CC: Look, i’m already in the capitol! And you said tavros left earlier today, rig)(t? T)(at means in two days )(e’ll )(ave arrived.  
CC: Do you know w)(ere t)(e war prisoners are taken?

TC: WhAt pUrPoSe DoEs A mOtHeRfUcKiN sIsTeR gOt On WiTh AlL tHiS cOuNtIn AnD iNqUiRiN?

CC: Maybe i can find )(im even before you get )(ere!  
CC: So you don’t )(ave to go t)(roug)( t)(e troububble of interfering wit)( a trial. W)(ic)( by t)(e wave is a serious crime and mig)(t not even )(ave worked, anywave!

For some reason, what she says rubs against you the wrong way. Maybe it’s the way she doubts that you could help Tavros--the way that she thinks she’s more capable of saving YOUR little miracle than even you are. You snarl, even though you’ve already told yourself to be nicer to Fishsis.

TC: I DON’T MOTHERFUCKIN NEED ANY MORE MOTHERFUCKIN HIGHBLOOD TROLLS GETTIN THEIR INTERFERENCE ON IN MY MOTHERFUCKIN BUSINESS.

CC: T)(is isn’t aboat w)(ose business t)(is is, t)(is is about tavros’s LIF-E!

TC: miracles are mine to motherfuckin protect and other bitches not to motherfuckin touch.  
TC: AND TOO MANY HANDS HAVE GOT THEIR MOTHERFUCKIN GERMS ON TAVROS.  
TC: i dont motherfuckin  
TC: NEED  
TC: another pair.

CC: Tavros doesn’t belong only to you, gamzee!

TC: YES HE

You stop yourself from finishing that sentence, and you suddenly feel cold all over as you realize what you were just about to say.

CC: NO )(-E DO-ESN’T!  
CC: And you can’t control w)(at I want to glubbing do, -EITH-ER!

TC: I dIdN’t MoThErFuCkIn MeAn It ThAt WaY.  
TC: I mAdE ThAt MiRaCuLoUs MoThErFuCkEr A pRoMiSe, MoThErFuCkEr. I sAiD i’D kEeP hIm AlIve AnD uNhUrT. AnD hErE yOu ArE gEtTiN yOuR dIsBeLiEvE oN fOr A cLoWn’S hOnEsT pRoMiSeS.

CC: O)( gamzee...38(  
CC: Just because you made )(im a promise doesn’t mean you )(ave to do it all by yourself.  
CC: I know you want to be his knig)(t in s)(ining armor or w)(atever.

Uh...what? You do?

CC: But we don’t really )(ave time for t)(at. Tavros needs )(is FRI-ENDS rig)(t now, and fast!  
CC: And not just you and )(is low side friends!  
CC: )(ig)(blood friends w)(o can actually glubbing do somefin about t)(is glubbing situation!  
CC: W)(ale  
CC: You AR-E one of )(is )(ighblood friends but GU-ESS W)(AT! SO AM I! Glub!

TC: I rEaLlY lOsT mY mOtHeRfUcKiN uNdErStAnD fOr YoU, sIs.  
TC: I hUrT hIm ReAlLy FuCkIn BaD bAcK tHeN bUt MoThErFuCkEr StIlL gAvE mE mIrAcLeS uPoN mIrAcLeS.  
TC: I’m BoUnD tO tHaT mOtHeRfUcKeR, iN bOdY aNd In MoThErFuCkIn BlOoD.  
TC: BuT yOu AiN’t GoT nO mOtHeRfUcKiN tIeS tO hIs MiRaClE sElF.

CC: W)(at do you M-EAN I DON’T )(AV-E ANY TI-ES TO )(IM?  
CC: I’m not trying to sound arrogant or anyfin, but w)(o was t)(e one w)(o took S)(ATT-ER-ED BON-E FRAGM-ENTS OUT OF )(IS SPINE w)(en )(e was paralyzed? Or breat)(ed air into )(is glubbing lungs w)(en )(is bloodpus)(er stopped?

TC: WeLl WhEn YoU pUt It ThAt WaY…  
TC: BuT i GuEsS i StIlL aIn’T lOsT mY pOiNt.  
TC: TaV’s ReAl MiRaCuLoUs AnD sHiT bUt YoU dOn’T oWe HiM a MoThErFuCkIn ThInG.  
TC: In FaCt We’Re ThE mOtHeRfUcKeRs WhO uP aNd OwE YoU a HeAvY mOtHeRfUcKiN dEbT fOr SaViNg HiS lIfE.  
TC: AnD i ReAlLy CaN’t HeLp GeTtIn mY sUsPiCiOn On FoR a MeDdLeSoMe SeAdWeLlEr MaKiN a BrOnZeBlOoD’s WeLl-BeInG hEr BuSiNeSs.

CC: Gamzee you are suc)( an idiot.

TC: HoNk?

CC: Owing someone isn’t a condition for being nice and doing the rig)(t t)(ing. I’m not being meddlesome, I care because you and tavros are my friends. T)(AT’S W)(AT FRI-ENDS)(IP IS, DUMMY!  
CC: Besides, i also made a promise to myself, a long time ago, to always kelp anyone w)(o is less fortunate t)(an me. And tavros is reely pretty glubbing unfortunate, unfortunately!  
CC: And if i’m being completely )(onest wit)( myself, t)(en i actually do owe tavros.  
CC: Because t)(is entire capitol mess is eridan’s glubbing fault! And i never did anyfin aboat )(im w)(en we were moray-eels.  
CC: I s)(ould )(ave done somefin to stop )(im.  
CC: But i also never DR-EAM-ED t)(at eridan would…  
CC: Glub. 38(  
CC: Never mind...

TC: …  
TC: DoN’t YoU mOtHeRfUcKiN sWeAt It FiShSiS.  
TC: ImMa KiLl ThAt MeDdLeSoMe BlAsPhEmOuS mOtHeRfUcKeR wHeN i Up AnD gEt ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN cHaNcE.  
TC: HoNk.

Feferi doesn’t express joy or gratitude at the proclamation of your desire to kill her traitorous ex-moirail. In fact, she doesn’t acknowledge it at all, and you wonder for a moment if that should worry you.

CC: Anywave, you )(aven’t answered my question yet.  
CC: Do you know w)(ere t)(ey keep war prisoners once t)(ey arrive in the city?

TC: I aIn’T rIgHtLy SuRe BeCaUsE i HaVeN’t GoT mY mIrThFuL sElF bAcK iN tHe CaPiToL fOr A lOnG tImE.  
TC: I’m GuEsSiN tHe WaR pRiSoNeRs AlL uP aNd Be CoNsIdErEd HiGh-PrOfIlE sO tHeY’lL pRoBaBlY tAkE aLl ThOsE pOoR mOtHeRfUcKeRs To ThE dUnGeOnS iN tHe PaLaCe.  
TC: AnD tHoSe aRe ReAlLy HeAvIlY gUaRdEd.

CC: O)( glub!  
CC: But t)(ere )(as to be a way i can get in some)(ow!

TC: MaYbE tHeY’lL bE a LiTtLe MoThErFuCkIn EaSiEr On ThE gUaRdIn, SeEiN aS a SiStEr’S gOt SoMe ReAl MiGhTy FuChSiA bLoOd PuMpIn Up HeR vEiNs.  
TC: AnD iF yOu GeT yOuR pErSuAsIoN oN tHeY mIgHt LeT yOu In.  
TC:...  
TC: LoOk, SiStEr, As A sEaDwElLeR yOu GoTtA bE pReTtY mOtHeRfUcKiN lOaDeD wItH tHeM dOlLaR sIgNs, RiGhT?

CC: W)(ale…  
CC: I try not to gloat aboat it...  
CC: And i try not to be too wasteful and extravagant wit)( my spending but…  
CC: A gill’s gotta do w)(at a gill’s gotta do sometimes and i do like my jewelry so…  
CC: Yea)( i guess.

TC: No NeEd FoR tHe MoThErFuCkIn ShAMeFuLnEsS, SiStEr. ThIs MoThErFuCkEr SpEnT a WhOlE BoAtLoAd Of GoLd On ThE sWeEtEsT mOtHeRfUcKiN fAyGo OnE rEaLlY mIrAcUlOuS tImE.

CC: O)( wow.

TC: AlL oF uS hIgHbLoOdS aRe MiRaCuLoUsLy RiCh MoThErFuCkErS aNd ThAt’S jUsT a MoThErFuCkIn FaCt, Yo.

CC: W)(at’s the point of all t)(is money talk?

TC: ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN pOiNt Is ThAt I’vE sEeN oThEr hIGhBlOoD mOtHeRfUcKeRs.  
TC: EvEn MoThErFuCkErS LoWeR tHaN yOuR sHaDe Of SeAdWeLlIn PiNk.  
TC: AnD tHeY tAkE tHeIr ThEiR mOtHeRfUcKiN gOlD tO tHe LoWbLoOd PrIsOnS.  
TC: AnD tHeY uP aNd ChOoSe ThE pErFeCt ShItBlOoD tHaT tHeY wAnT tO bUy AnD tAkE ‘eM hOmE.  
TC: MaYbE mY fUcHsiA sIsTeR sHoUlD gIvE hEr TrYiN aT bEiN oNe Of ThOsE mOtHeRfUcKeRs.

CC: You want me to BUY )(IM?  
CC: O)( my cod, all of t)(is is just. So wrong!

TC: sister can’t motherfuckin do it?

CC: No, it’s not t)(at, it’s just…  
CC: I’ve never owned any slaves before and t)(is is just so…

TC: I’LL BUY HIM FROM YOU WHEN THE DEED IS UP AND DONE.  
TC: but just remember that any motherfucker who sells me  
TC: DAMAGED GOODS  
TC: won’t live to motherfuckin regret it.

CC: Please, i don’t want any of your money for )(im!  
CC: Let’s not talk aboat )(im like )(e’s just a material possession or somefin. I )(ate t)(at so muc)(.

TC: does a sister not think.  
TC: THAT I MOTHERFUCKIN HATE THIS TOO.

CC: And t)(is still isn’t even tec)(nically legal, is it? Slaves are only supposed to be boug)(t and sold from slave markets or auctions!  
CC: At least t)(at’s w)(at i t)(ink eridan told me.

TC: Of MoThErFuCkIn CoUrSe ThIs AiN’t LeGaL.  
TC: ThEy’D cUt yOuR fIsHy FiNgErS oFf If ThEy OnLy KnEw YoU wErE tRoLlInG uP a MoThErFuCkIn TrAiToR.  
TC: AnD tHeY’d ChOp YoUr ArMs OfF fOr IlLeGaL tRaDiNg Of CaPiToL pRoPeRtY. cAuSe CaPiToL pRoPeRtY’s WhAt ThOsE lOwBlOoD mOtHeRfUcKeRs LiKe TaV aRe Up AnD bEiNg.

CC: O)( my!

TC: SiStEr’S gOtTa GeT hEr UnDeRsTaNd On ThAt We’Re So FaR oUt Of ThE mOtHeRFuCkIn LaW wE’rE iN oUtEr MoThErFuCkIn SpAcE.  
TC: So Is A mOtHeRfUcKiN sIsTeR uP fOr ShOoTiN tHrOuGh ThE wIcKeD sTaRs Of DaNgEr AnD mOtHeRfUcKiN lAwBrEaKiNg?

CC: I won’t deny t)(at i’m a little worried, and scared, but of course i’m up for t)(is.  
CC: I mean, tavros )(as lost so muc)( to us! )(is friends, )(is freedom, )(is legs…  
CC: W)(at’s a little danger compared to all t)(at? It’s t)(e least i can do.

TC: ThAt’S wHaT a MoThErFuCkEr LiKeS tO hEaR. hOnK hOnK hOnK.

CC: I’ll try my very best to find )(im and bring )(im )(ome. And w)(en you come back i’ll put )(im in your capable )(ands again! As long as you still let me sea )(im sometimes. I’m still worried aboat )(is )(ealt)(.

TC: SiStEr BeSt Be Up AnD rEaDy To BrIbE tHe GuArDs WiTh A wHoLe FuCkInG lOt Of GoLd. ThEy AiN’t GoNnA lEt A mIrAcLe lIkE tAv OuTtA tHeIr StIcKy ClAwS sO eAsIly, BuT tHe MoThErFuCkErS uP aNd GeT mOrE sLiPpErY wHeN yOu GoT mOnEy.

CC: Understood.  
CC: And even if t)(ey don’t let me bring )(im )(ome, i’ll still gonna bring some pain medication just to make t)(ings ea-sea-er for )(im in the meantime.  
CC: And )(opefully you’ll be able to sway t)(em once you get )(ere, by claiming )(e’s your quadrant. -Even t)(oug)( you’re only a purpleblood, your reputation in the capitol precedes mine because of your ancestry.

TC: ThAt SoUnDs BiTcHtItS, fIsHsIs.  
TC: BuT a MoThErFuCkEr’S uP aNd HoPiNg ThAt He AiN’t GoT tOo MuCh PaIn On ThAt LiTtLe BoDy To Be Up AnD nEeDiN mEdiCaTiNg.

CC: I )(ope so too…  
CC: Ug)(, do you know w)(at is t)(e part t)(at i )(ate t)(e most aboat all t)(is?  
CC: T)(at i )(ave to act like a criminal just to do t)(e rig)(t t)(ing!  
CC: We s)(ouldn’t )(ave to go t)(roug)( all t)(is troububble to protect someone w)(o’s disabled and innocent.  
CC: )(ow can all t)(e ot)(er )(ig)(bloods condone t)(is? T)(e empire’s supposed to protect all of its citizens!

TC: NaH, tHe EmPiRe OnLy WaNtS tO mAkE sOmE mOtHeRfUcKiN eNtErTaInMeNt, BuT tHeIr MaKiN tHeIr CiRcUsEs OuTtA tHeM lOwBlOoD mIrAcLeS aNd EvErYtHiNg’S fLiPpEd To GoDdAmN sHiT lIkE aN oVeRcOoKeD pAnCaKe.  
TC: BuT iT dOeS mAkE a MoThErFuCkEr PrEtTy CuRiOuS. wHy FiShSiS eVeN uP aNd JoInEd ThE hIgH sIdE aRmY iN tHe FiRsT pLaCe, If AlL tHeSe StRoNg As FuCk FeElInGs ArE tHe MiRaClEs PuMpIn ThRoUgH yOuR hIgHbLoOd BlOoDpUsHeR.

CC: I DIDN’T KNOW!  
CC: I didn’t know t)(is was t)(e wave t)(ings were. I always t)(oug)(t t)(at lowbloods were savage and untamed and t)(at was w)(y we )(ad to enslave t)(em. For t)(eir own safety, so t)(at )(ig)(bloods could take care of t)(em!  
CC: Granted, i never boug)(t any slaves of my own but t)(at was only because i liked being independent. I can do my own glubbing c)(ores, T)(ANK YOU V-ERY MUC)(!  
CC: And w)(en t)(e war started, i couldn’t understand )(ow t)(e lowbloods could be so ungrateful, and betray us after everyfin we’d done for t)(em.  
CC: But after meeting tavros, and people like t)(e )(elmsman in t)(e )(overcraft, and seaing t)(e wave people like t)(e captain and eridan act, i don’t t)(ink t)(e lowbloods betrayed us at all! T)(ey only revolted because T)(-EY COULDN’T STAND IT ANYMOR-E!  
CC: I F-E-EL LIK-E I’V-E B-E-EN TRICK-ED! )(OW MANY INNOC-ENT P-EOPLE )(AV-E I )(-ELP-ED KRILL JUST BY B-EING ON T)(-E )(IG)( SID-E?  
CC: Glub i’m so angry at myself for being so STUPID!

TC: HiGhBlOoDs DoN’t SuBjUgGlAtE tHe LoWbLoOdS fOr AnY mOtHeRfUcKeR’s PrOtEcTiOn, SiStEr.  
TC: We Do It CaUsE iT’s FuN tO wAtCh OtHeR mOtHeRfUcKeRs SuFfEr.  
TC: RaInBoWs AnD aGoNy ArE tHe MeSsIaHs’ MoThErFuCkIn BaNqUeT. BuT rIgHt NoW iT’s AlL tHe WrOnG mOtHeRfUcKeRs DoIn ThE sUfFeRiN aNd EvEn WrOnGeR mOtHeRfUcKeRs DoIn ThE lAuGhIn AnD StEaLiN tHe MeSsIaHs’ MiRaCuLoUs PaRtY.  
TC: AnD I’m pReTtY mOtHeRfUcKiN gLaD tO sEe My MeLlOw LiTtLe SeAdWeLlIn SiStEr FiNaLlY GeTtIn HeR hIgHbLoOd RaGe On In ThAt WiCkEd BlOoDpUsHeR.  
TC: bUt DoN’t Up AnD dIrEcT tHaT rIgHtEoUs AnGeR aT yOuR mOtHeRfUcKiN sElF.  
TC: UsE iT tO gIvE tHe ReSt Of ThE hIgH sIdE a BiG aSs MoThErFuCkIn MiDdLe FiNgEr.  
TC: FuCk AlL oF tHeM, fUcK yOuR mOtHeRfUcKiN eX-mOiRaIl aNd PuRpLeBlOoDeD cLoWn PoSeRs AnD fUcK tHe MoThErFuCkIn EmPrEsS fOr GeTtIn HeR wIcKeD cOnTrOl On AlL oF uS.

CC: O)( my cod, you’re rig)(t gamzee!  
CC: It’s like i can feel my dissatisfaction towards t)(ese people bubbling underneath)( my skin and now i reelly need to -EXPLOD-E somewhere!  
CC: O)( MY COD…  
CC: T)(IS F-E-ELS SO STRANG-E….AND OVERW)(ELMING...38(

TC: HaHaHaHa I cAn’T mOtHeRfUcKiN bElIeVe YoU aIn’T fElT tHe MirAcUlOuS rAgE pArTy Up In YoUr MoThErFuCkIn PaN bEfOrE.

CC: O)( CLAM UP!

TC: HoOoNk.

CC: FUCK YOU FOR -ENCOURAGING T)(IS, YOU STUPID PURPL-EBLOOD CLOWN!

TC: MoThErFuCk DAaAaAaAaMn GiRl…

CC: FUCK ALL T)(-E )(IG)(BLOODS...  
CC: AND FUCK -ERIDAN FOR B-EING LON-ELY AND PITIFUL -EV-EN T)(OUG)( )(-E’S CL-EARLY A )(ORRIBL-E, J-EALOUS LOS-ER!

TC: HoOoOnK!  
TC: wait what

CC: And i can’t believe i’m saying t)(is because -ERIDAN alwaves told me t)(at i s)(ouldn’t insult t)(e empress, but since i said fuck )(im already, FUCK H-ER TOO!  
CC: S)(-E’S A BITCH W)(O DO-ESN’T D-ES-ERVE TO B-E ALT-ERNIA’S SOV-ER-EIGN! GLUB!

TC: AwWwW hElLs To ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN yEs SiStEr!  
TC: I aIn’T nEvEr AlL sEeN yOu sO mIrAcUlOuS bEfOrE!  
TC: LeT oUt ThE rAgE lIkE a FeMaLe BaRkBeAsT iN hEr MoThErFuCkIn HeAt, WoMaN! lEt It SiNg AlL oVeR tHe MoThErFuCkIn PlAnEt LiKe A sOn Of A gLuBbIn FuChSiA lUsUs.  
TC: Or DaUgHtEr, I gUeSs.

CC: Wait.  
CC: T)(at’s a good idea!

TC: WhAt’S a GoOd IdEa Up AnD bEiNg?

CC: W)(ale maybe not by singing...and not to the w)(ole planet eit)(er but…  
CC: Letting people know! You know, ot)(er )(ighbloods!  
CC: We can’t be t)(e only ones w)(o feel tricked by t)(e government. I bet t)(ere are tons of ot)(er )(ig)(bloods w)(o don’t know t)(e trut)( aboat lowbloods, and would be )(oriffied to know t)(at we’re krilling innocent darlings in t)(is war.  
CC: If i could )(elp get t)(e message out, tell t)(em aboat my experience wit)( tavros and w)(at a gentle soul he really is...maybe we could pressure t)(e empire to stop fig)(ting t)(e war! Make some real c)(ange so t)(at no one )(as to suffer anymore.  
CC: And forget fucking t)(e empress, t)(at’s gross anywave! W)(at s)(e reelly needs is a good talking-to and some S-ENS-E knocked into )(er!

TC: WhAt  
TC: ThE  
TC: fUcK  
TC: ...  
TC: FiShSiS, i DoN’t MeAn ThIs In No MoThErFuCkIn MaNnEr Of OfFeNsE, bUt ThAt AlL sOuNdS wIcKeD uNsHaRp.  
TC: HoLy MoThEr Of FuCkS, wHeN i SaId ThAt I mEaNt iT aLl To Be Up AnD uSeD lIkE a MoThErFuCkIn FiGuRe Of SpEeCh.  
TC: DoN’t Go AcTuAlLy CrYiN oUt ThIs ShIt AlL oVeR tHe StReEtS.

CC: W)(at? But w)(y not?  
CC: We could make some c)(ange, peacefully!

TC: FiRsT oFf, mOsTa tHe OtHeR HiGhBlOoDs YoU sPeAk Of AiN’t GoT nO mOtHeRfUcKiN oBlIvIoN oN fOr WhAt HaPpEnS tO tHeM lOwBlOoDs.  
TC: I mOtHeRfUcKiN kNeW bUt DiDn’T gEt My CaRiNg On TiLl I mEt ThAt MiRaClE mOtHeRfUcKeR tHaT tAv’S bRoWnBlOoD sElF’s AlWaYs Up AnD bEiNg.  
TC: AnD iT’s ThE vIoLeTbLoOd SeAdWeLlIn MoThErFuCkErS lIkE yOuR eX-pAlE bItCh WhO uP aNd WrItE tHe LaWs Of ThIs HeRe LaNd. AnD tHe PuRpLEbLoOd SuBjUgGlAtOrS wHo Up AnD eNfOrCe ThEm. MoThErFuCkEr BrEaKs ThE uNhOlY lAw AnD yOuR aSs Is On ThE TeAlBlOoD pLaTtEr Of ThEm MoThErFuCkIn LeGiSlAcErAtOrS.  
TC: ThE rEsT oF tHe HiGhBlOoDs KnOw ThEiR lOwBlOoD pRoPeRtY rEaL wElL sO dOn’T yOu GeT yOuR wOrRy On FoR tHe MiRaClE oF oBlIvIoN, sIsTeR. cAuSe UnLiKe YoU tHeY cAn’T dO tHeIr OwN fUcKiN cHoReS.  
TC: aNd lEt’S nOt fOrGeT tO gEt OuR rEmEmBeRaNcE oN fOr ReAl PoPuLaR eVeNtS lIkE tHe WiGgLeR sAcRiFiCe.

This is particular is important to you because it was at such an event that you encountered (albeit unknowingly) Tavros for the first time.

TC: ThEy’Re LoYaL tO tHe HiGh SiDe AnD tHeY’lL pUt YoU dOwN lIkE a MaD bArKbEaSt If YoU sTaRt MaKiN tHe NoIsE tHeY DoN’t LiKe To HeAr.

CC: 38(  
CC: O)( glub, w)(at actually is t)(is )(ell t)(at we live in?

TC: EmPrEsS BiTcH aIn’T gOt No OpEn HoLeS fOr ShIt To Be KnOcKeD tHrOuGh, GoT ‘eM sEwEd ShUt LiKe A tIgHt-AsS rHyMe wItH tHe MoThErFuCkIn SiNeWs Of HeR gOlDbLoOd SlAvEs. OnLy OpEnInGs ArE fOr ShIt To EjEcT oUtTa HeR aSsHoLe. AnD hEr PiEhOlE.  
TC: AnD mOtHeRfUcK, sIsTeR, If YoU tAlK tO ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN eMpReSs aBoUt PuTtIn PiTy On FoR sHiTbLoOdS tHeN wE bEsT sAy MoThErFuCkIn GoOdByE rIgHt ThE fUcK nOw.  
TC: YoU tAlK tO hEr AnD ShE’lL cUlL yOu BeFoRe A mOtHeRfUcKeR cAn SaY “mIrAcLeS”.

CC: But…  
CC: But s)(e wouldn’t!  
CC: I’m...i’m a fuc)(siablood and we s)(are t)(e same lusus.

TC: SiStEr, GlYbGoLyB wOn’T mOtHeRfUcKiN sAvE yA aNy MoRe ThAn A bUrGuNdYbLoOd MoThErFuCkEr If YoU sQuAwK aGaInSt ThE tYrRaNiCaL pReAcHiNgS.  
TC: YoUr MiRaCuLoUs BlOoD aIn’T hElPeD yOu NoNe WhEn AmPoRa DeCiDeD tO sEnD yOu HoMe.

CC: But i t)(oug)(t t)(at was different because we were on t)(e battlefield…  
CC: I didn’t t)(ink t)(at even at )(ome it would be so...  
CC: GLUB!  
CC: W)(at even is t)(e glubbing point of being a )(ig)(blood if you still don’t )(ave t)(e power to do anyfin?

TC: MaN, iT’s AlL a FuCkEd Up JoKe, SiStEr. HeMoSpEcTrUm’S fUcKeD aLl To ShIt.

CC: …  
CC: Glub w)(at do i do? 38(  
CC: I can’t just sit around and do NOT)(ING!  
CC: I’ve wasted too many sweeps fig)(ting for t)(e wrong cause. I )(AV-E TO DO SOMEFIN!  
CC: Fuck you if you t)(ink i’m just gonna sit around and twiddle my fins now t)(at i know t)(e trut)( aboat t)(e way t)(ings are )(ere in alternia.

TC: NoW hOlD yOuR mOtHeRfUcKiN hOoFBeAsTs SiStEr, I aIn’T gEtTiN nO dOuBt On FoR yA

But you don’t think Feferi’s paying attention to you any longer.

CC: I don’t glubbing care w)(at it takes! I’m gonna do somefin aboat all t)(is and c)(ange t)(e way t)(ings are!  
CC: I’d rat)(er DI-E T)(AN LIV-E IN AN ALT-ERNIA LIK-E T)(IS ONE!  
CC: MARK MY WORDS!

cuttlefishCuller [CC] ceased trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]

TC: MoThErFuCK sIsTeR tHaT’s WhY wE gOtTa SnEaKiTtY-sNeAk BoUt aLl OuR mOtHeRfUcKiN oPeRaTiOnS.  
TC: CaUsE yOu CaN’t GlUb NoNe If YoU’rE aLrEaDy A dEaD fIsH.  
TC: FiShSiS.  
TC: FeFeRi.  
TC: PeIxEs.  
TC: HoOoOoOnK.  
TC: CoMe On SiStEr.  
TC: FuUuUuUuUuUuUcK.  
TC: DaMn GiRl uP aNd JuSt Be CaReFuL aNd DoN’t GeT aLl Of Us In TrOuBlE wItH yOuR sQuAwKiN.

You wait another ten minutes to see if Feferi might cool down and reply you once again, but she doesn’t log back on. You feel the rage start to curdle up within the confines of your gut and you suppose it’s payback for the way you got so amused and gleeful at Feferi getting angry. She’s normally so bubbly that it was refreshing to see her all mad and whatnot, and for all the right reasons, too. But you didn’t realize that an angry Feferi could possibly be a rash Feferi, all up and getting bloated ideas in her head about taking some really dangerous action. Karbrother’s words of warning struck fear and caution in your bloodpusher and you don’t want everything to go down the drain because of one stupid mistake. While Feferi’s dedication to Tavros and her desire to help the lowbloods is admirable, you’re uncomfortable with the idea of her doing anything of her own accord when you’re so far away. She might herself killed if she opens her fish mouth too soon or does something reckless. And if the government makes a connection between her and you and Tavros then all three of you are goners. Doesn’t matter if Feferi’s a fuchsiablood. In fact, the Empress hates fuchsiabloods who threaten her power. You would know, you’ve helped subjugglate her fuchsiablood opponents to the grave before, although this always happened behind closed doors. Wouldn’t do for the public to know that even fuchsiabloods were being slaughtered.

Angry and worried, you toss your palmhusk onto the ground and stumble into the recuperacoon. You don’t feel like sleeping, you feel like getting up, doing something, killing something maybe, but none of those are options for you right now and you really do need to get some rest. It’s getting really late now and tomorrow’s gonna be a big day.

terminallyCapricious [TC] ceased trolling cuttlefishCuller [CC]

→ BE ERIDAN AMPORA

hey fef its eridan i knoww you probably dont care anymore but i wwanted to let you knoww that im leadin the platoon to my first battle as captain today an evven though wwere probably gonna wwin just in case somethin happens i just wwanted to say that im sorry i only wwanted the best for you because i cant stand the idea of you gettin hurt evven though it hurts me evvery second because i miss you so much im flushed for you and i wwill lovve you alwways you dont havve to do anythin about that but please forgivve me

You stare at the wall of violet text that you’ve typed onto your husktop. With a heavy sigh you highlight all of it, hit the backspace button, and retype.

caligulasAquarium [CA] began trolling cuttlefishCuller [CC]

CA: feferi  
CA: its eridan  
CA: you should havve arrivved in the capitol by noww i guess  
CA: i hope you realize that i did it for your owwn good so you shouldnt be so ungrateful  
CA: you wwere gettin distracted here  
CA: anywway im off to fight another battle today  
CA: put the rest a that platoons shitbloods in their place  
CA: theyll nevver see it comin  
CA: ill let you knoww howw it goes because i knoww youre curious  
CA: wwish me luck

caligulasAquarium [CA] ceased trolling cuttlefishCuller [CC]

You quickly exit the chat window, not brave enough to see whether or not Feferi will reply you. It’s still really early in the night so Feferi’s probably still asleep, anyway.

You wish you had the courage to send her your original words--words that stripped you bare and vulnerable but revealed your genuine feelings. But of course your pride had to get in the way and you ended up still being an asshole.

You wonder if she misses you at all…

You sigh and close your husktop. You’re marching your soldiers out to the shitblood camp in about an hour. Despite your faith in your division’s fighting abilities, you are nervous. It started to rain yesterday and the drizzle has turned into a downpour, complete with ominous roils of thunder and bolts of lightning. Yes, the attack will probably come as a surprise for the lowbloods, but your highbloods will still suffer from poor visibility, muddy terrain, and the cold.

And despite all of your confidence, you are not blind to the fact that there will be casualties on your side. It’s an inevitability even in the easiest battle. It never bothered you before, when you were just one of the many nameless soldiers of the division. Feferi had been your only real concern, then. But now Feferi’s not here, and now you’re the captain and the only seadweller left here, and your people are looking up to you. With the glory of the position comes the weight of responsibility. The weight of dozens of lives. Many whose names you do not know. Many whose names you will only learn after they are killed in battle. Names that you will report to the Capitol so that they may be filed as missing or deceased, after which an official letter of apology and consolation will be sent to their quadrants…

And if you die, who will the Capitol send that letter to? Fuckin’ no one, that’s who.

And for the first time in a long time, you are completely terrified.

So what do you do? You distract yourself, and since you’re already torturing yourself with thoughts of your unrequited flushed crush, you decide to go full out and torture yourself with your fucked-up “maybe a kismesis maybe a one night stand which wasn’t really a one night stand because there were no buckets or orgasms”.

You fix the collar of your uniform self-consciously and step out of your tent. A couple of your soldiers salute to you and you wave them away as you walk towards the blueblood section of the camp.

—> BE VRISKA SERKET

You’re sitting on the ground outside your tent. You’re in your uniform, your weapons are loaded and stocked, ready for battle. Your roommate is still inside the tent the two of you share, getting changed and eating breakfast. You haven’t eaten breakfast and you don’t intend to; it might not be a good idea to go into battle with an empty stomach, but you are a more than capable soldier and a little bit of hunger won’t hinder you. Dry bread and oatmeal are the only available breakfast options (indigoblooods and above also get soup, but not bluebloods or tealbloods). You don’t want dry bread and oatmeal to be your last meal, so better yet to not eat at all.

You’re not scared. You’ve never been scared before a battle, not even before your first one. But neither have you ever felt so calm. Pre-battle adrenaline and excitement used to rush through your cerulean veins, charged like lightning. Now there’s an emptiness—not the bad kind, more of an unearthly, floating kind—in the pits of your abdomen. No happiness, sadness, or even rage—just calmness. And you’re not used to this feeling, but it’s okay.

You didn’t start feeling like this right away. The night after your little “encounter” with Eridan, you woke up with your thinkpan in a state of such turmoil as you had never experienced before. As such, you opted out of participating in drills with the rest of the platoon, instead choosing to spend the night lying alone on the ground inside your tent like a goddamn slacker. You know you could get in trouble for failing to participate, but you doubt “Captain Ampora” would have the guts to punish you.

And for hours, your thoughts flitted back and forth between two infuriating men: the said seadweller captain, and Tavros Nitram. The second-highest and second-lowest on the hemospectrum.

There was nothing special about the way you hated Eridan Ampora, you told yourself. You’d never particularly liked seadwellers in general, finding them too fussy and pretentious and condescending. Seadwellers were boring like that, and yet they were socially higher than you and from time to time that miffed you. Not to mention that your mind manipulation didn’t work on most highbloods.

That was one of the reasons you rarely fucked anyone higher than indigo. Power dynamic was important to you, and you had to be the dominant one.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t appreciate some ice-cold-blood nook from time to time. Eridan has always been boring, pining after Feferi as he was. He only caught your attention because he was the reason Tavros got sent away, and this very fact infuriated you. Anger-fucks were always hot, not to mention that Eridan was emotionally susceptible—and thus easier to play with—in the face of Feferi’s departure. It was for these reasons alone that you were attracted to Eridan Ampora. There was nothing inherently special about him. He was no different than any other seadweller to you.

(You resolutely DO NOT think about how violently the loud violet streak in his hair offends you. Or how much it would amuse you to steal his glasses so he can’t see. How his whiny voice makes you grind your teeth. How bitter resentment simmers in your stomach when he wallows in his pathetic self-pity, despite being a violetblood and more privileged than most trolls could ever dream of being. How his voice wavered when your fingers were inside of him, when he was moaning your name and making gooseflesh rise on your skin with his voice. How you want to hear those wonderfully disgusting sounds coming from him again and again, for days, weeks, perigees, sweeps.

Your hatred for Eridan is nothing special.)

And thinking of special kinds of hatred inevitably made you think of Tavros. It had taken you a long time to accept that you were caliginous for the disabled lowblood troll. You had never desired anyone so badly without having at least some kind of sexual encounter with them before, and after the fiasco in which his bloodpusher stopped and Feferi had to bring him back to life, you could no longer deny that there was more to your desire for Toreadork than carnal attraction. You didn’t like being pitch for him, because you didn’t want to have any long-standing attachments to anyone, particularly not with someone like him. You thought that, after being with so many people, you would be incapable of crushing on someone so hard.

But now you do want to be pitch for him, because at this point your attachment to him is irreversible and wanting him as a kismesis beats wanting him as literally anything else.

Don’t get yourself wrong, you still hate him. His stutter is pathetic and he’s so lacking in the backbone department that even after paralyzing him and insulting him, he never ever even raised his voice at you. He’s a frustrating combination of weak and cowardly, and stubborn and strong-willed. And he’s far too cute for his own good.

You want to insult him, watch the way his brown eyes wilt at your words, and then you want to sing him praises and revive the happiness in his lookstubs. You want to bully him about his weakness so that he can become stronger, make it less likely for other trolls to take advantage of him. You want to scare the living shit out of him, and then hold and protect him while he shudders in fear. His stubbornness is one of his more redeeming qualities, but it’s no fun when it’s being used against you! And he’s so cute that you can’t stand it, you want to stuff him and put him on your shelf like a life-size doll because he’s just so satisfying to look at.

But if wanting these things makes you flushed for him, then hell no, you don’t want that!

Ugh, you hate him so much. For making you feel this way.

So you told yourself: so what if you like him, a little bit? You’ve always had something of a fetish for bronzebloods. Generally speaking, they are the most mellow, the most affectionate, the most genuine, of the blood castes you have become acquainted with. It’s a breath of fresh air that contrasts beautifully with your ruthlessness. After joining the army, you’ve barely gotten a chance to play with any lowblood toys at all, so of course Tavros would appeal to you. Even the shittiest beer would taste sweet to an alcoholic on withdrawal.

(You resolutely DO NOT think about how cold your chest felt when you saw the way Tavros looked at Gamzee. The lowblood never looked at YOU like that before--sure, you’re a monster, but isn’t that damned purpleblood even worse? You don’t think about how you can feel your steel-hard bloodpusher cracking, just a little bit, when you think about the ways he’s surely suffering right now. You don’t think about how much you want to hear him say that he loves you, Vriska, without you having to mind-control him to do it.

Your attachment to Tavros is nothing special.)

Long story short, you spent the majority of your night spinning a web of denial around yourself. You were oblivious to the passage of time—so much so that by the time your roommate returned from training, you hadn’t yet even moved from your prone position on the ground.

You ignored your roommate; this was not unusual. The two of you barely ever spoke. You had the distinct feeling that she was not fond of or was scared of you. Probably both; who wouldn’t be? Normally you didn’t much mind the presence of your fellow blueblood, but at that moment you craved privacy, and for a second, you felt bitter resentment towards the higher-bloods, who had tents of their own. You waited until the noisiness outside in the rest of the camp had died down, signaling that everyone had gone to bed for the day. Then you exited your tent and sat on the ground right outside of it, quietly observing the now emptily silent, sleeping camp.

In the solitude of daytime, the tide of your thoughts began to change. Suddenly, your fervent denial felt absolutely pointless. You hate Eridan. You’re maybe a little bit in love with Tavros. Fine. Fine! So be it! You’re Vriska Serket, you can hate or you can pity whoever you damn well please. Your desires have always been somewhat on the “unconventional” side. Nor have they ever been easy to quench. But that made the challenge to obtain them all the more pleasurable.

Eridan is not that much of a challenge. It’d be a respectable relationship with someone of high social standing. Sure, some might frown upon a kismesissitude between a captain and one of his soldiers, but you’ve never been one to care about others’ pesky opinions. Besides, Eridan obviously wants you soooooooo badly, being the horny seadwelling tool that he is.

Tavros, on the other hand. Pursuing him would be the very definition of a challenge. Flushed for a shitblood—yeah, that’d go over real fucking well with the prissy highbloods back home. You’d have to quit the army and go back to the Capitol somehow, praying on the slim, slim chance that Toreadork wasn’t culled right away for his “war crimes” and for his useless legs (and whose fault was that? you remind yourself) at his trial. Praying that he was instead put up for sale, and that there wouldn’t be too many bids for a disabled slave so that you would be able to afford him. Because a blueblood’s salary is decent, but war prisoners are particularly expensive, and it would probably cost you half of your savings to buy him.

The idea is appealing, because you don’t mind spending large amounts of money if it’s worth it, but the chances for success are far too low and there are way too many factors out of your control. Besides, Tavros’s trial is probably coming up soon, and there’s no way you’d be able to make it back to the Capitol in time for it.

And let’s not even get started on the most difficult part of this entire equation: Tavros doesn’t love you. Probably doesn’t even like you. It’d be a fucking surprise if he didn’t downright hate you.

But none of this matters in the end, does it? It’s annoying being caliginous for Eridan, it’s extraordinarily difficult being flushed for Tavros, but it’s downright impossible to have both of them in your quadrants at the same time.

It was then that you took notice of the pitter-patter of rain outside. Stifled by your frustrating thoughts, you stopped and listened to the rainfall. It suddenly reminded you that you only had a few hours left before the platoon would be heading for battle.

It wasn’t a gentle rain; you could hear the heavy droplets beating the muddy ground relentlessly, ice-cold knives from heaven slicing Alternia’s sinful soul. And though the pitter-patter of the raindrops was random at best, anything but organized and rhythmic, it sounded like a heavy death knell in your ears.

And it was then that a strong feeling overcame you. Call it a sixth sense, if you will. An inexplicable sensation that felt like magnets were pulling at the blood in your thinkpan. It had only happened a few other times in your life, and even though there was no explanation for it, you always trusted this “sixth sense”. It was too strong for you not to believe in it. It was something like a prophetic instinct.

And at that moment, your sixth sense was telling you that in the battle tomorrow, you’re going to die.

Your first reaction was shock. You, Vriska Serket, were going to be defeated at long last, like—this? In a meaningless battle with some lowbloods?

And next you felt fear. You didn’t want to die. You were too young! There was so much in life you hadn’t accomplished, so many things you still wanted to do, all four quadrants still unfilled...

Unbidden, you recalled a memory. It happened when you were still living back in the Capitol. You had been sued by another ceruleanblood for mind-controlling her jadeblood kismesis to have sex with you.

Did you actually do something like that? Probably. You couldn’t be sure, because when the jadeblood in question was brought before court, you didn’t recognize her face. But that could’ve been because she was a particularly unspectacular bucket. But you didn’t deny doing it, because you didn’t need to. The legislacerators took one hour to decide that you hadn’t committed a crime, because the jadeblood wasn’t registered as a caliginous pail slave, merely a kitchen slave. That meant that you hadn’t overstepped any quadrant boundaries by fucking her. The jadeblood, on the other hand, was executed in that very courtroom for daring to mess around with a highblood who wasn’t her owner (even though you would have been the one forcing her to do it, anyway). You watched with a smile.

One of the legislacerators wasn’t happy with the verdict. She’d argued with her colleagues to no avail, because no way were they going to judge in favor of a greenblood over a blueblood. She was quickly overturned. So after the trial, she followed you home, and her stealthiness was impressive enough that you didn’t even notice her until she jumped at you from out of a corner in front of your hive, teal eyes sparkling, smile sharp and wicked, brandishing a cane.

“Who are you?” you asked, amused and amazed and puzzled.

“Hello Vriska Serket. I’m legislacerator Terezi Pyrope, currently Alternia’s youngest Legislacerator! Prepare to pay your dues, Miss Serket: I’m here to deliver justice, once and for all!” she cackled.

“Justice?” you laughed, throwing your head back. “But it has already been served, Miss Legislacerator! The jadeblood bitch is burning in troll hell, where she belongs!”

“It’s people like you who give highbloods a bad name,” Terezi scoffed. “The jadeblood wasn’t the one at fault, and you and I both know that. You deserve to be in prison for what you did! Or hanged!”

“Your colleagues didn’t seem to have agreed with your sentiments,” you replied. “Are you saying that the Alternian justice system has failed us, Miss Legislacerator? Such are whispers of treeeeeeeeason.”

“The courtroom is a double-edged sword, Miss Serket, it serves justice just as much as it cheats it. But that doesn’t mean the guilty should go unpunished, and it is my civil duty to deliver condemnation to the deserving!”

“Well then, Miss Legislacerator,” you smiled, “it shall be my civil duty to eliminate the overconfident pukeblood who daaaaaaaares to question the integrity of the Empress’s court!” You didn’t really give a shit whether people insulted the Empress or not. You simply found it fun to make fun of this tealblood girl.

“I’m not a pukeblood. My blood is teal!” she exclaimed. “And my name is Terezi!”

You would do well to remember Terezi’s name. She truly put up a worthy fight, and you were sad when it had to end. But the sun was coming up, and as much as you loved fighting Terezi, you wouldn’t risk getting burned to a crisp in Alternia’s deadly daytime just to continue fighting her. She was obviously getting tired, anyway, constantly trying to stab or strike you with her cane, so in a brief moment when she was distracted, you snagged her thinkpan with your mind powers and forced her to look at the horizon, upon which the sun was slowly climbing. You took the chance to rush through the door into the safe shelter of your hive, quickly locking it so that Terezi was trapped outside. Through the door, you could feel her struggling against your mind powers, but you kept her trapped in your web of steel.

“Thank you for your ‘justice’, Miss Legislacerator,” you mocked through your door. “I truly enjoyed putting you in your place, even though I clearly didn’t ‘deserve’ the enjoyment given to me by this epic battle!”

“Laugh--all you want--now--” she growled, still struggling to break free from your mind control. “Life has a funny way of--delivering justice. Have all the--fun you want--in your heyday now--but you’ll regret it when fate forces you to meet your maker!”

And then she started screaming as the sun rose and began to incinerate her eyes.

“Does that mean that I’m your maker, Terezi Pyrope?” you asked, relishing in the sound of her agony. “What crime did you commit that forces me to punish you? Having too annooooooooying a voice?”

But that was then and this is now, and Terezi was kind of right. Because you’re no longer laughing. You didn’t believe anything about karma or justice before, believing instead that those with power and strength would dominate others and reap the benefits. But what explanation can be given for your sudden certainty regarding your death? You’ve been a terrible troll throughout your life and never afraid to admit it. Perhaps your “maker” has decided that you’ve used up all of your luck; now it’s time for them to take it back, even though you’re still so young.

In fact, letting you die now would probably be a small mercy, for surely you deserve much worse suffering for the sins you had committed in the past.

And surprisingly, this is the thought that finally calmed you down. That even in death, you’re cheating justice. You’re Vriska Serket and only you can do something badass like that.

Besides, what more has life and quadrants got to offer you? You’ve had wealth, sex, and adventure all throughout your life, and it’s gotten to be boring. Your concupiscent quadrant crushes are obvious disasters, and forget anyone ever wanting to be your moirail or auspistice. Fuck all of that, you want something different now. Something like freedom. Something that death can give you.

Which brings you back to the present, still sitting outside your tent but at peace as the camp awoke around you to the sound of the rain’s ferocious torrents.

You’re almost ready for the day. All that’s left is to tie your hair up in a bun so that it won’t get in the way in battle. You search your pockets for an elastic band to tie your hair with, but before you find one, your eyes fall upon a sharp, jagged shard of a beer bottle lying a few inches from your feet. Feeling reckless, you pick up the shard, careful not to accidentally cut your fingers with it. You place it at the base of your neck and—

Chop off all of your beautiful long hair. You won’t be needing it anymore.

Immediately you hear something like a squawking sound coming from behind you as the thick, pitch black strands float to the ground. You turn to see your least favorite seadweller gawking at you like a dumb fish.

“Eeeeeeeey!” You call cheerfully, waving him over. “Look who it is! The walking, talking, sex fish on a stick!”

He opens and closes his mouth, staring and spluttering. “Y-you, y-y-your hair—“ He gulps audibly, and it’s a testament to how distracted he is that he doesn’t comment on the nickname you gave him. “Wwhat, wwhat did you do to it?”

“Cut it off,” you reply flippantly. “It’s the process of removing hair so that it’s no longer attached to your scalp—“

“I fuckin’ knoww, I’m not an idiot!”

“I beg to differ.”

“Shut the fuck up!” he whines. “You havve no fuckin’ right to talk to me like that. And you can’t just—cut off your hair, wwhat the hell, Vvris?”

“I’d loooooooove to hear your explanation of how I can’t do something I’ve already done,” you smirk.

He grasps around for an explanation. “I hated your stupid hair!” is what he comes up with.

“Oh? Why’s that, Captain?”

He finally seems to regain some composure. “Because you’re clearly too much of a bitch to deservve hair as beautiful as that,” he says, and fuck, it’s when he says stuff like this that your bloodpusher skips a beat, then starts drumming two times faster. He glances down at the fallen locks of hair now coating the ground, longing and wistfulness swimming in his eyes, and when he looks back up at your face the longing is still there.

“I don’t need my ‘stupid hair’ to seduce anyone anymore,” you tell him, your voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Because I already have a kismesis.”

The longing in Eridan’s eyes morphs into fear and jealousy for a moment. Hahahahahahahaha, he’s so fucking easy to read. “Wwhat?” he almost screeches. “Wwho?”

“A tooooooootal iiiiiiiidiot,” you sigh dramatically, before reaching up, hooking both arms around his neck, and pulling him in for a kiss.

He’s too shocked to respond at first, so you impatiently suck on his tongue and run your sharp fangs across the sensitive appendage. This seems to snap him out of his surprise, and he starts returning your kiss with equal fervor. Somehow he wrestles his tongue out from between your teeth and sweeps it around the inside of your mouth. His hands find the back of your head and fist the uneven tufts of your now short hair. It’s sloppy and he’s obviously pretty inexperienced and it’s bad, and it’s also so, so good.

He’s the one who pulls away first, sharply intaking much-needed air. His expression is dazed at first, but after several more seconds, anger rearranges itself on his visage. “Wwhat do you think you’re doin’?” he says in a low voice.

“I’m wiping my mouth,” you say loudly, wiping your mouth and pretending to gag.

“Stop that!” he snaps, grabbing your hand. “Don’t fuckin’ pretend you didn’t enjoy that.” Then he glances around and continues to hiss in a low voice. “There are people wwatchin’! You could givve ‘em the wwrong idea.” And indeed, the handful of blueblood and indigobloods in the vicinity are either staring, glancing, or outright giggling at the two of you.

“What’s the ‘wrong idea’ you’re so afraid they’re gonna get?”

“That--that I--you--we’re--you knoww,” he struggles. “That I’m bein’ an unprofessional captain, that’s wwhat!”

“Oh pleeeeeeeease. No one’s gonna judge you. Everyone in this camp wants you to fill a bucket and get the footlong pole out of your stuffy highblood ass.”

“Wwhat? Seriously?” Eridan asks, losing his composure for a moment. “Wwell then--I--but--” And suddenly he glares at you accusationally. “Is that wwhy you’re doin’ this, then? Are you gonna abandon me after one bucket? I don’t appreciate bein’ led on, Serket!”

You rolls your eyes. “You know what I hate about you?” you huff. “How you have this stupid sense of self-entitlement even though you’re a compleeeeeeeetely insecure wimp!”

His eyes widen to a comical degree, almost surpassing the borders of his square glasses. “So you really hate me, huh.” You can tell he’s trying to make it not sound like a question, trying to temper the hopefulness in his voice, but you see right through him. “And you really wwanna be my kismesis. No lies, no catch.”

“None at all, Captain!” you answer cheerfully, and he looks at you skeptically. “Although I do have a request.”

His face assumes an expression of resignation. “Of fuckin’ course you wwould havve some kinda string attached,” he grumbles, but you can tell he’s not about to outright protest because he’s just that desperate for a willing quadrant. “Fire awway, I guess. I’m feelin’ generous.”

“When I die,” you say, “I want you to put my body on a pirate ship and then blow it up in the most amaaaaaaaazing fireworks display anyone has eeeeeeeever seen! That way no one will ever dare to forget Vriska Serket, who’s taken all the badass to the afterlife with her. All of it! Leaving everyone else to mourn for their loss of badassness, hahahahahahaha! And whenever you meet another troll you’ll tell them aaaaaaaall about your aaaaaaaawesome kismesis.”

Eridan stares at you with incredulity. “That’s it?”

He doesn’t think you’re serious, even though you actually are being serious. You don’t blame him; he has no reason to believe you’re about to succumb for any reason anytime soon. You’re a brilliant fighter who has always been ridiculously lucky in battle, surviving each one with a few scratches at the most.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” he says, rolling his eyes. “After all, I’m a seadwweller wwho can afford to do somethin’ extravvagant for his kismesis—unlike landwwellin’ savvages.”

You can’t help grinding your teeth. This is supposed to be about you! And of course Eridan would turn the conversation around to the status of his own wealth.

“But that means I havve somethin’ to ask you too,” he says, fidgeting slightly.

“Oh? What’s that, sex fish?”

“Are wwe...exclusivve? I knoww you wwanted to fuck that shitblood.”

Why did he have to bring that up? “Don’t you fucking dare bring him up,” you snarl.

He is taken aback but stubbornly continues to press the issue. “But do you?”

You fall silent for a few moments. “Yes.”

“I don’t get it!” he exclaims. “Wwhat’s so fuckin’ great about those loww livves?”

“I don’t get it either,” you sigh, because honestly why do you like Tavros so much?

“I fuckin’ swwear by Makara’s dumbass messiahs, you are not gonna dirty yourself by sleepin’ wwith lowwbloods wwhile seein’ me!”

You narrow your eyes at Eridan. “What gives you any right to decide? My sex life is none of your fucking business.”

“But—“

“Don’t forget that this kismesissitude is happening because I want it to. So don’t. Cross me. Ampora.”

He struggles for an answer, before looking down at the ground and muttering, “I just don’t wwanna havve to share you. Wwith shitbloods. Or anyone else, really.”

“Don’t worry, Ampora,” you smirk, softening. “You’re my one and only spade.”

There’s doubt in his eyes, but he seems to accept this as an answer for now. He leans in close to your face and his breath tickles your nose.

“I’ll tell evveryone knoww all about you, all right. I’ll go out of my wway to let strangers knoww wwhat a slutty, evvil little bitch you wwere.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

The two of you tumble into yet another kiss and you can’t tell who initiated it this time. If you didn’t hate Eridan so much you might pity him for the fact that in just a few hours, he is going to lose his new kismesis. But you don’t pity him; you just think it’s a great way to fuck with him one last time before you die.

—> BE EQUIUS ZAHHAK

“Where do you think you’re going, Mister?”

You freeze in your tracks at the sound of the female voice. “I…” you say, nervously meeting olive-green eyes.

It’s early in the evening right now. Normally, you wouldn’t have woken up yet at this time. But the fact of the matter is that today, you haven’t slept a wink since last morning.

After Aradia’s fight with her moirail yesterday, she did not talk to anyone else for the entire night. She spent most of it holed up in the back of the cave. The jadeblood tried to entreat her to come out and at least eat something, but a stony silence had been the only answer. The rustblood in question did show her face once--but it was only to retrieve her backpack, during which she made eye contact with no one. You watched with quiet amusement as the goldblood tried desperately and failed to catch her attention.

You resolved, then, you would allow Aradia a day to stew and recover from the emotional duress of fighting with her moirail. Then you would approach her. That meant today.

It seemed easy at the time, but as you lied on the cold, hard ground throughout the day, trying to sleep, you realized that you had no idea what to say to her or how to say it--without unintentionally pissing her off or making her hate you immediately. It frustrates you that you are even in a situation where you have to worry about a lowblood’s opinion of you. By default she should worship you for your deep blue blood. But you suppose Aradia’s allure is the fact that she completely defies default expectations.

Even after an entire day of restless tossing and turning, you came up with nothing. Finally, you had become so nervous and sticky in your own sweat that you decided to get up. You decided to throw all caution to the wind and approach Aradia NOW. You don’t like having to wing this, but you honestly have no idea how well Aradia will react to you. You still have some leftover venison from that other day when you and Nepeta went hunting; you suppose you could offer it to the rustbloood. She must be hungry by now. On a whim, you decide to take out your uniform jacket. Despite the fact that weather’s gotten colder on the outside because of rain, it’s remained relatively warm inside the cave, but last you saw of Aradia she only had on a T-shirt and she might be cold. Your jacket would be far to big for her, but it would serve the purpose of showing that highbloods like yourself are charitable and generous.

The other lowbloods were all still asleep while you clambered up, on account of it being so early, but you’d forgotten that one of them always stays up to keep watch. You suppose you’re lucky that it was Nepeta on guard duty. She’s been the most understanding of your movements and actions out of all the lowbloods. If anyone else were on watch, they might question your reasons for getting up earlier than everybody else.

But you still have to provide her with an answer. You open and close your mouth a few times. Finally, you settle for, “Nature is...calling.” That’s not actually the truth but your face flushes with indigo anyway.

Nepeta narrows her eyes at you, scrutinizing you. Finally, after a minute of her feline gaze, she says, “I don’t think so!” She eyes the food and jacket in your hands. “I think you want to go see Aradia!”

What? How did she-- “No. I would do--no such thing--she’s just a lowly rustblood--and I’m--”

“Oh shush,” Nepeta interrupts, “Karkitty may be the romance expurrt, but I’m the mistress of reading people’s hearts!”

“But I’m not--”

But she’s not listening. “You’re afurraid of what we might think, right? Beclaws you’re a highblood? Well, I can’t speak for the others, but I secretly support you. You don’t seem so bad and Arquius is one of my new ships! Don’t tell Karkitty I said that though...”

You are completely befuddled. “Ar...quius? Ships?”

She brightens. “Yup! Shipping!” she exclaims, bounding forward in a ridiculously catlike manner until she’s right in front of you. You suddenly notice that she’s holding something in her hands, and upon closer inspection you realize that it’s a notebook. “The art of pairing trolls together in pawsible romantic relationships!”

For some reason Nepeta seems delighted to have an audience. She begins leafing through the notebook, holding it out to show you. “This is redrom!” she babbles excitedly. There is an entire page covered with a big red heart and crude drawings of Nepeta herself and the mutantblood. “Oh yesssss!” is written on the bottom of it. The subsequent pages are littered with multiple hearts, each with two trolls drawn into them and comments about the status and likelihood of each pairing. You see the goldblood with the jadeblood in one heart that says “weird?????” and another one of the bronzeblood and Aradia that says “best furiends or more? X33”. Strangely enough, this heart has been scratched out, and underneath it is another heart. It is occupied on one side by the bronzeblood, and on the other side is simply the word, “gamz33”. The comment says, “i hope i can s33 this in purrson someday! i wonder what tafuros’s type is?”

You balk at the last heart but don’t have time to comment on it, because Nepeta is already turning to the the next page. “And this…” she says with zeal, “is BLACKrom!” It looks similar to the redrom pages but spades replace the hearts. Neither is it as full as the redrom section, but it is still significant nonetheless. Among others, there is a spade with the mutantblood and goldblood drawn into it, with the caption “LOUDxNerdy”. At the bottom of the page, you are surprised to find a spade with you and Aradia drawn into it. You try to control your sweating as Nepeta points at said spade and says, “It could work, you know. She definitely hates you at least platonically, all you have to do is get her to hate you romantically too! But just be careful that she doesn’t hate you so much that she tries to kill you. Aradia is hard to read sometimes!”

This is definitely not what you wanted to hear, but for some reason you don’t have the heart to tell Nepeta that you’re not actually pitch for the rustblood.

So you change the subject. “What this?” you ask, flipping to the next page. It’s immediately evident that this is Nepeta’s moirallegiant shipping chart. Occupying an entire page is a diamond with Aradia and the goldblood drawn in it. “CANON!” reads the comment at the bottom. On the subsequent page are numerous other possible pale pairings, but none of them really catch your eye. Except for--

There’s a tiny diamond at the bottom of the page, evidently smaller than the rest. Upon closer inspection, you can tell that Nepeta herself occupies one-half of it. But before you have a chance to see who Nepeta ships herself with pale, the book snaps shut in your face and Nepeta is hugging it to her chest, face flushed completely olive.

“Who is your moirail?” you ask.

“No one!” she snaps at you, baring her pointed teeth, startling you with her sudden ferocity. “Just a--crazy impawsible idea that came to me--in a dream or something! It’s none of your business, Equius!”

You quit Nepeta’s company soon after that, because she is obviously entirely too touchy to be dealt with right now. Besides, Aradia is your priority right now and you are not at all curious about who Nepeta is pale for. Not curious at all. The meaningless romantic flings of a lowblood should not--er, do not--concern you.

Before you know it, you’re standing in front of the rock wall behind which Aradia is holed up. It occurs to you that you have no way of getting in unless she allows you entry; of course, you could break down the rock wall with your superior STRENGTH, but you doubt the rustblood would take kindly to such a display.

You stand there, shifting from foot to foot. Is she still asleep? You stop moving, straining your ears for sounds coming from inside, but it is so silent that you can barely believe that there is anything alive in there. Oh fiddlesticks, is she all right? If something’s happened to her in there, there will be no way you nor anyone else will know. Should you really break down the wall and check on her? Should you--

“How long do you plan on standing out there?” a muffled female voice says from behind the wall, and you jump in surprise. Before you can collect yourself, the rock slab is moving away in a cloud of red telekinetic energy. And you’re standing face to face with the girl who kept you up all day.

There’s no sign of sleep in her eyes--which probably means that she was awake all this while. As a matter of fact, there’s no sign of anything in her eyes--they’re just two blank, emotionless, unreadable orbs. You desperately try to remind yourself that she’s just a burgundyblood, nothing scary about that--but your heartbeat quickens and your throat dries up nonetheless.

“What do you want?” she asks blandly.

“I--” You force yourself to swallow, and try again. “The caves are damp, at this time of day and...I feared that you would get cold. It would be a pity if a susceptible lowblood body such as yours falls ill due to exposure to the elements.”

There is glimmer of emotion across Aradia’s eyes, but it flickers past so quickly that you aren’t able to decipher it. The stony look soon settles over her features once more. “How thoughtful of you,” she says, “but I’m completely fine. You see, I’ve been drinking tea and it’s been keeping me warm. Would you like some?”

You are so surprised by her offer that it doesn’t occur to you that Aradia shouldn’t have any hot water to make tea with. Her offer is kind, but the expressionless of her features visage makes you nervous. Is this a...trick?

“I would...appreciate that, lowblood,” you say, wincing when the word “lowblood” accidentally slips out. But Aradia makes no comment of it, instead turning away and gesturing for you to follow inside the small passageway.

As soon as you are inside, Aradia uses her telekinetics to move the boulder back into place, effectively trapping you inside this shallow, narrow cavern with her. You don’t know if it’s your imagination, or if you can actually feel the heat of her warmblood body radiating onto your skin.

“This is an old recipe,” she tells you. You watch with mounting confusion and apprehension as Aradia pulls out a small cup and pours cold water into it from her canteen. Is she trying to...poison you? But she doesn’t add poison to the cup. She grabs a handful of dirt from the ground and throws it into the cup, swirling it lightly until the water inside turns into a rust-colored slurry, not unlike the color of her eyes.

And then she looks directly at you, somehow managing to freeze your coldblood self into place with fiery warmblood eyes. And then she spits into the cup.

She forces it into your hands and without breaking eye contact. Her expressionless face breaks into a threatening smile. “Here you go,” she says, her voice gaining a raspy edge. “This is a special blend called the ‘Essence of Rustblood Hatred’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter of pointless character development! I'm sorry guys. I have a serious problem LOL.
> 
> BUT I PROMISE TAVROS WILL BE IN THE NEXT CHAPTER


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY ANOTHER UPDATE! Honestly I think I may be more excited when I upload new chapters than my followers LOL. 
> 
> Had SO MUCH FUN with this chapter. Don't wanna say too much without giving too much away. ;) But, I am shit at writing action scenes. I'M SORRY.
> 
> Don't forget to follow this fic on tumblr @icanfeelyouacrosstheline. Ask box is still empty! I'm also taking prompt suggestions for one-shots--again, check out my tumblr for the list of ships I'm accepting prompts for. 
> 
> Art for this chapter at: https://yzydragon2222.deviantart.com/art/ARADIA-EQUIUS-Are-you-in-there-735991623

Chapter 18

— > BE TEREZI PYROPE

The lowbloods, through trial and necessity, are experienced at living in the wilderness and coexisting with Mother Nature’s quirks and whims. Even while enslaved, they were often forced to do outdoor labor, so they were no strangers to the elements. And those who joined the Low Side after the revolution have no hive, no home to return to at the end of the night when a battle is done. So they learned to make the dirt, the grass, the rivers, the trees, the sun and skies, the rain and the clouds and the stars, their home.

This is not so for the highbloods.

Highbloods can boast superior physical strength, but highbloods clearly can’t hold a candle in comparison to the lowbloods when it comes to survival. Pampered and sheltered since wigglerhood, highbloods are not at all in their element in the outdoors. High Side soldiers have to go through intense survival training prior to deployment, but it’s just not the same as the Low Side’s sweeps of experience. It’s why the Low Side has been able to elude the High Side for so long, staking it out in challenging environments. Or why the High Side always prefers to set up camp on the outskirts of cities or towns, to which food and supplies can easily be delivered.

There is thick discontent and heavy confusion when your platoon marches toward the lowblood camp in the midst of a thunderstorm. Eridan is somewhere in the back, riding on his skyhorse lusus. It’s an hour’s journey to the clearing where the lowbloods are supposed to be camping. An hour of marching would be a measly task in good weather, but the rain batters down and beats the spirits out of all of you, and within minutes you are all exhausted. Your uniform sticks to your skin, freezing and unpleasant. You trudge through the sticky, muddy ground and your boots feel thrice as heavy as usual.

You are marching in standard formation, which means that the tealbloods, you included, are marching in the front. The front lines are always the most dangerous, which is why they are almost always occupied by your blood ilk, the High Side’s lowest. It has always been up to the tealbloods to be on the lookout for threats looming ahead, to warn the rest of the troop of danger, which comes in the forms of wild beasts or lowblood snipers.

You are usually the best at this job. You can sniff out danger better than even a troll with the sharpest eyes, because sometimes, it is too late when a threat is already within eyeshot. You laughed at the other trolls who called themselves “able-bodied”, because how much could their perfect bodies and unscarred eyes be worth if they couldn’t sense the scintillating world of smell and taste the way you could?

But of course, at times like these, you are painfully reminded of something that you know deep inside, but don’t want to confront: that no matter how well your other senses compensate for your sight, your blindness is still a disability.

Take barkbeasts, for example, who, like you, have exceptional noses. They are often used to sniff out the trail of fleeing lowblood slaves. And while the barkbeasts’ sense of smell are almost always reliable, there is one weakness—something that throws off the trail of scent.

Water.

And now, while the soldiers around you complain about fat rain droplets fogging up their glasses or how they can barely see ten feet in front of them because of the thick sheets of rain, you want to curse all of them for being so ungrateful for their healthy eyes. Because the water is robbing everything of its scent and you might as well have cotton plugged up your nose. It’s as if the rain has taken all of the world’s sharp, beautiful colors and mixed them up with a gray sludge before regurgitating all of it up back in your face.

You have no choice but to rely on your sense of hearing to navigate your way through the terrain and keep up with the troops. You have good ears, but your hearing cannot replace your sight the way tasting and smelling could. The storm is loud; thunder rumbles in the sky and the rain hits the ground like a furious waterfall from the heavens. It is difficult for you to follow the sounds of your comrades’ footsteps, but their booted footfalls are heavier, more lethargic, than the splattering of rain droplets on the ground. Still, to keep up, you have to strain your ears so hard you’re worried they’ll bleed, and every second your bloodpusher is jumping erratically within your rib cage as you worry that you’ll follow the wrong sound, take a wrong turn, and wind up lost in the forest all by yourself, in the middle of a freezing storm, helpless and afraid.

After about five more minutes, the platoon’s pace starts to slow. You realize that you’re nearing the location of the lowbloods’ settlement. Murmurs of confusion rippling through the ranks.

“Is this the place?”

“Can’t see a fucking thing!”

“Jegus fuck, how the fuck do the lowbloods survive outside in weather like this? I’d cull myself before doin’ something like this.”

“I think I can see some of their tents! Right over there…”

“Shhh! Don’t let them hear us! We gotta keep the element of surprise here!”

“Fuck you, idiot, as if they could hear us from here, over all this fuckin’ rain?”

“Do we just start shooting?”

At that moment, you hear a muffled order from Eridan from the back of the troop. You can’t hear what he said, but the message passes quickly to the front line where you are. “Secure the perimeter of the clearing. Don’t open fire until the captain gives his signal,” a nearby blueblood communicates. You nod sharply; this is no different than the plan Eridan had laid out to all of you earlier today. Today’s mission is supposed to be quick and easy; a swift surprise attack upon the lowbloods. You highbloods will surround the lowblood camp, trapping them, and deliver a volley of deadly bullets that they can’t escape.

However, as the soldiers around you begin moving around you, spreading out in different directions, you realize that you have no idea where you’re supposed to go since you can’t see or smell or taste anything. You can’t even tell which direction the lowbloods are situated. Oh, why couldn’t you have just swallowed your pride and asked Eridan to let you sit this battle out? Although, knowing the casteist, ableist asshole that Eridan is, he probably would have sent you back to the Capitol if he found you incapable of fighting in a little rain. Look what he did to Feferi, and she’s higher than him!

You stand there, panic rising in your chest as you shuffle on your feet, but then someone shoves you and hisses, “Get a fucking move on, Pyrope.”

You smile vaguely in Tegiri’s direction, trying to hide your insecurity. “Come on, Kalbur, be a gentleman help a blind girl out, won’t you? Escort me to the right place and tell me where the enemy is, and as a reward I’ll give you the best lick you’ve ever had!”

“Cripples like you should’ve stayed home,” he sneers. “I should cull you right now for being—“

For being what, exactly? Tegiri doesn’t have a chance to finish his sentence when he is suddenly interrupted by a loud BANG.

You have no idea who fired the first shot, and it seems you are not alone in your oblivion.

“Who fired?”

“I thought we were supposed to wait for the Captain’s signal?”

“Shit did one of the lowbloods open fire on us?”

“How did they know we were here? Were we that fuckin’ loud?”

“I TOLD you to be quiet!”

“Shut up, shut up!”

You’ll never know who fired that first shot: maybe it was one of the highbloods disobeying Eridan’s orders and firing early. Or maybe your lot really was discovered by the lowbloods and they were the ones who opened fire on you first. Or maybe someone’s gun misfired, inadvertently triggering the beginning of this entire mess.

Whatever it was, your presence has DEFINITELY been noticed by the lowbloods by now. You hear them shouting through the rain, some ways across the trees.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Commander Dammek! The highbloods! They’re here!”

“Shit, shit, shit! Grab your weapons and go, go, GO! We don’t have time to play around especially if they’ve still got their purpleblood with them! Everyone, I’m taking Nitram’s hoofbeast, follow my lead in that direction! HURRY!”

And holy shit, how could you have forgotten.

This is Tavros’s platoon.

And then from another direction Eridan is hollering, “GET A MOVVE ON, YOU IMBECILES! FORGET SURROUNDIN’ THE PERIMETER, OPEN FIRE NOWW! DON’T FUCKIN’ LET ‘EM ESCAPE!”

And then shots are being fired through the rain, and you can’t tell where they’re coming from and who’s shooting, you can only hear the deadly, high-pitched whistle of bullets whizzing past your ears. And screams are erupting around you, near and far, and when blood is shed there are brief moments in which you can smell the shocking spatter of color in the air, before it is washed away once again by the torrents of the storm.

In a blind panic (no pun intended), you pick up your rifle, your hands slipping on the a few times, cock it on your shoulder, aim it in the direction that you can hear lowbloods screaming and smell earthy-colored blood exploding, send a prayer to an unknown deity, and begin pulling the trigger. Each shot explodes loudly against your eardrums and the shock of its vibrations reverberate through the gun’s metal frame and into your body.

The lowbloods do not know that your purpleblood is not with you at this particular battle. But the fact that Gamzee isn’t here doesn’t make this the lowbloods’ lucky day; rather, you’d say it makes this the highbloods’ unlucky day.

→ BE ARADIA MEGIDO

This shouldn’t be so fucking satisfying. His cracked shades have slid down his nose a little, revealing deep indigo eyes that are blank with shock. There’s a part of you that wants to either help him adjust those ridiculous shades back onto his nose, and another part of you that wants to rip them off his face. And then punch his face. That sudden stiffness in his muscled body, the obvious beads of sweat travelling down his forehead, his neck, his arms, trickling beneath and staining his shirt…You really shouldn’t be smiling. You really should stop smiling. Stop smiling, Aradia.

You grin even wider.

You’re Aradia Megido, and you failed to keep your best friend safe. You’re Aradia Megido, and you failed to be a good moirail to Sollux. You’re Aradia Megido, and you failed to keep your temper in check when your friends needed you the most. You’re Aradia Megido, and you’re alone in a room in a cave with the strongest highblood you’ve ever met, making him gape, making him sweat. You’ve never felt more powerful and you love it.

His jaw hangs loosely open for quite a while, and you suppress the urge to reach over and force his mouth shut. He can’t drink your tea if his mouth is closed, after all.

But he continues to gape, speechless, to the point where you see a drop of sweat fall into the cup. You watch with fascination as the blue droplet dissolves within the brownish-red sludge that you served him. Either the two of you have been sitting here in silence for a long time, or he just sweats that fast. But either way, you suppose it’s time to break the silence, can’t have the highblood just staring at you all night. He’d probably enjoy that, being the perverted sicko that he is.

“Is the taste not to your liking?” you ask, sickly sweet, and he starts a little bit at the sound of your voice.

He finally closes his mouth and gulps loudly. His brows crease with anger for a moment, his nostrils flaring. But then he takes a deep breath and regains control of himself, and you have to admit that you’re impressed because you’ve never seen an angry highblood rein himself in like this before.

He sets the cup down unhappily. “This is...not how one makes tea,” he finally says.

“But it’s how I make tea,” you retort, crossing your arms. “It’s how I make tea for the worst people in the world.”

“I am your superior and you shall not insult me like that,” he snaps, and you smirk because you knew all along it was only a matter of time before a highblood like him gave into his rage and showed his true, ugly colors.

He seems to realize that he snapped at you, and regret flickers across his features. He hastily wipes sweat from his forehead. “I...apologize for my outburst,” he says. “It was loud and unseemly. However, I simply could not help it because it...riles me severely, to hear you deride respectable blood colors this way. There seems to be some...incongruence, within your lowblood mind, regarding the merit of highbloods.”

His words give you pause for one second, and in the next second you are furious. “Are you calling me stupid?”

His eyes widen. “What? No, you misunderstand—“

“I didn’t ‘misunderstand’ anything, you piece of shit. Don’t try to cover it up with your fancy words. You think that the reason I don’t worship you like the moons is because my lowblood pan is too stupid to understand how to serve you properly. Oh yes, that’s always the excuse, isn’t it? Lowbloods are too stupid, that’s why they should serve the highbloods! And if they can’t serve the highbloods properly, well, that’s also because they’re too fucking stupid! Come on now, Zahhak, look me in the eye and tell me that wasn’t what you were trying to tell me.”

“I never communicated—anything—of such crudeness—“

“Oh, would you like me to clean it up for you, then? All right. Enslavement of the lowbloods is for their own benefit, since they’re too SIMPLE-MINDED to take care of themselves. Problem solved! But nooooo, the lowbloods are too SIMPLE-MINDED so they can’t even be a slave properly. Oh nooooo, poor highbloods, having to suffer because their lowblood property is so primitive and savage, so maybe whipping said property and cutting their shitblood horns off will do the trick. Maybe that will make them LESS simple-minded.”

Zahhak opens and closes his mouth a few times, obviously fishing around for an appropriate answer amidst this delicate situation. “I never said that,” is the pathetic response he finally comes up with.

“You were thinking it,” you shoot back.

“I—“ he begins, but then he falls short, because how can he deny that what you just stated is his exact mentality. Finally, he mutters, “I would never…deliver flagellation, or…remove horns from lowblood. Such measures are simply barbaric and...do not reflect a highblood’s honor. I wholly disapprove of any highblood who lowers themselves to such brutish deeds.”

“Oh, cull me!” you gasp dramatically, sarcastically. “I never would have imagined that you were so kindhearted, sir! Here’s a round of applause for your generosity.” You begin to clap loudly, and the sound bounces off of the cave’s rock walls and echoes loudly around the two of you. The echoes take the edge off of the sound of your applause, making each smack sound more like hollow, mocking booms. And that is exactly what you intend, and from the look on Zahhak’s face, he understands perfectly well that you are trying to ridicule him.

When you finally stop applauding, he frowns and says, “Pardon my ignorance, but I do not understand what is so despicable about highblood behavior if we uphold our honor and refuse to...harm the lowbloods without a very good reason. Lowblood simplicity is not patronization as much as it is a mere fact of nature.”

Your nostrils flare. “Why don’t you drink your tea, then? You shouldn’t define lowbloods as simple until you’ve gotten a real taste of our ‘essences’. Have some tea, and if the sophistication isn’t up to par, I’ll concede for you to call me simple.”

“Of course there are exceptions, such as yourself, Aradia, you seem like an intelligent creature—“

Your entire body tenses. “Who said you could call me by my name?”

“I—“

“Shut up! Who said you could talk? DRINK THE FUCKING TEA!”

His face screws up, causing his shades to fall even further down his nose. However, he refuses to meet your eyes. He seems to be warring within himself, and you watch as shadows of intense emotion flicker across is broad and admittedly handsome face.

Finally, he seems to settle for an answer and his indigo eyes rise to meet your rust ones. In a quiet, but steely voice, he says, “No.”

You almost lose your composure for a moment, because despite the low volume of his voice, there is a hardness and stubbornness to it that sends shivers down your spine.

But you’re Aradia Megido and you’ve long since evolved past being any highblood’s bitch. So you pick the cup of dirt-and-spit water from off the ground with one hand, casually pretending to inspect your nails with the other.

(Your bloodpusher is pounding in your ears, but Zahhak doesn’t need to know that.)

“I seem to recall telling you to ‘drink your fucking tea,’” you intone flatly. “Did I say, ‘Equius, wouldn’t you like to drink your tea?’ No I fucking did not. So when I tell you to drink your fucking tea,” and here you stop inspecting your nails and look directly at the indigoblood. “YOU DRINK THE FUCKING TEA!”

He visibly jumps at your explosion, and you take your chance to shove the cup of “tea” in his face, intending to force it past his lips and make him gag on the disgusting fluid. But then his hand shoots out reflexively and he grabs your wrist to stop you. All of the dirtwater tea sloshes out of the cup and onto his shirt, and in another situation you would’ve been disappointed that none of it landed on his face. But you can’t be disappointed right now because you are distracted by the amazing pressure surrounding your wrist. His grip is so tight and so strong that you can feel your bones on the edge of cracking like brittle eggshells under his sweaty fingers. You can’t help but let out a yelp.

Horror arranges itself on his face when he hears you cry out, and his grip slackens, even though does not let go of your wrist. Instead, he encompasses it gently with a firm, yet feather-light grip in both of his hands.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks frantically. “Please accept my apologies. I merely acted out of reflex. Damaging you would be the last of my intentions!”

Damaging you? What the fuck does this guy think you are, a porcelain doll?

You yank your hand from his grip, hiding your wince because holy fuck, it’s still throbbing. You send him a poisonous glare. “We let you eat our food. I even let you go hunting with Nepeta! You lounge around so comfortably, strut around like you own the place and now you’re acting like you want to own us, too? Do you even realize that you’re our prisoner here? YOU SHOULD BE IN FUCKING CHAINS! WE SHOULD BE STARVING YOU TO THE POINT WHERE YOU WOULD BE THANKING ME FOR THE TEA ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES!”

Your voice is increasing in pitch and cracking like broken radio static, and you teeter on the edge of mad cackling and sobbing. Holy shit, you really need Sollux to pap you right now. But despite everything, you’re still stubbornly mad at your moirail. And mad at Kanaya, mad at Karkat, mad at Nepeta and even Tavros. Mad at yourself. You’re cracking. You’re cracking.

Your rage is obviously affecting the highblood, too, who growls in response to your yelling. “I have nothing to thank you for,” he says. “Makara is the only reason I’m still here. As a highblood, I have more than tolerated your lack of hospitality.”

“Hospitality? Do you think we’re a hotel?” you screech. “Do you think this is your vacation—“

“As if chains could hold me,” he interrupts. “And I’ve been doing all of you a service by keeping you alive—“

“We were loads better before your ugly face showed up—“

“If I were anything like Makara, you would long be—“

“DON’T! YOU! FUCKING! DARE! Mention the name of that piece of scum. In front of me,”  
you scream.

Zahhak is again taken aback by your shouting, but this time he too is a little too angry to back down. “I can do whatever I please,” he half-growls, half-yells. “I could pulverize your fragile lowblood skull with a single finger—“

“Then do it,” you say, pinning him with an electric gaze. “I dare you.” You suddenly realize that sometime in the course of your yelling match the two of you had gotten to your feet. You are made aware of just how much his thick, muscled form towers over your own. The top of your head barely reaches his broad shoulders. Still, you refuse to be intimidated.

You take a step closer to him until your nose is a few mere inches away from his chest. His musky scent fills your nostrils, and he smells heavy and masculine, but surprisingly, not gross. However, you are not trying to smell him. You bow your head so that the back of it is exposed to him. You’re inviting him to kill you with a swift blow. You have no illusions that were he to do so, your brains would become the wallpaper, carpet, and ceiling of this room. Your hair falls like a curtain around your face.

You can hear his breath catching and speeding up. His entire body is frozen, and you wait patiently.

“Countless highbloods have threatened to do a number of things to my lowblood skull,” you breathe. “I’m tired of playing the waiting game. So I’m cashing in on the skull crushing. Do me a favor and make it as horrifying and gorey as the highbloods made it sound like.”

“I cannot,” he finally breathes back. “The highblood—Makara—made me swear to protect all of you for the bronzeblood’s sake—“

“It’s too late to feed me with your sickblood lies,” you cut him off. You don’t want to admit the warmth you feel in your bloodpusher at the idea of a stranger highblood caring about and looking after you because you’re important to Tavros. “I’m not as naive as Tavros is to believe a purpleblood would have actual goodwill in his heart.”

“But Makara really did—“

“What did I say about mentioning his name in front of me?”

He falls silent for a moment. Then he tries again: “Your friends...are extremely concerned about your well-being, Arad—erm.” He catches himself from saying your name, covering it with an awkward cough. “If I laid a finger on you, they would surely—“

“But what’s stopping you from pulverizing their skulls into bits, too?”

“As I said, the highblood—“

“You’re gonna have to give me a better reason than that. You’re gonna have to do better than that!” you snarl. “And leave my friends out of this. You’re messing with their pans somehow, turning the lot of them into sickblood asskissers.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how Nepeta’s warmed up to you! How do you explain that?”

He sputters for an answer. “She’s nothing to me!”

“Of course. She’s just a crazy oliveblood after all, so it doesn’t matter at all to you to toy with her emotions. Then you see, I should be even less to you. Kill me. Kill me! You can do it, what’s stopping you?”

He sputters some more, and then falls completely quiet for a long time. Apart from the sound of breathing, it is completely silent, and the silence thunders loudly in your ears.

Finally, he takes a step back, away from you. “I could...never hurt you,” he mumbles. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

And really, you should have expected him to say something like that. You’ve seen the way he looks at you. But you didn’t expect the tenderness and vulnerability in his voice. You didn’t expect him to call you a woman. You didn’t expect him to call you beautiful, and to say it like that.

There’s still a long, long way to go. But in the future, you’ll look back at this very moment and realize that this was the beginning of your ruin.

Right now, your throat feels clogged up and you are unable to speak. It takes you several minutes of deep breathing and dry swallowing before your voice starts working again. Too weary to show emotion, an emotionless, almost robotic quality returns to your voice. “Why did you come here tonight?” you ask him. “This whole time, were you waiting for a chance for me to be alone so that you could fuck me without anyone noticing?”

He flushes so deeply indigo that you fear the veins in his head might burst from the pressure of his cold blood. “I had no such intention,” he says, and at your slightly skeptical look, he adds, “Truly! I cannot deny that many aspects of you...stimulate me more than I find appropriate, but I am only a man with...desires.” You flinch at that but he plows on. “But there was and continues to be no reason to act upon them at the present moment. I merely wished to...gain your acquaintanceship, and discuss an...important matter with you.” He bows his head. “I did not mean to hurt or threaten you in any way, but I find it difficult to control myself in the presence of a creature such as yourself, and for that I beg your pardon.”

“My acquaintanceship? What good could come out of getting to know me?”

“I would like to understand your continued revulsion towards highbloods, since it continues to baffle me.”

“Do you really want to understand it?” you ask. “Or do you just want to change my mind?”

“Hrrm…” he struggles. “You must understand that it is only a matter of time before we end this war. The highbloods have tried to be patient with you lowbloods, but even to us that patience is measured. As such, swift action should and will be executed to deliver punishment and...teach you lowbloods a lesson.” He speaks with such great conviction, so absolutely faithful in the High Side cause. “Never have I seen a lowblood as volatile as you, and I fear that your explosive disposition will not be looked upon kindly by the government. They may attempt to sell you for a price entirely too cheap than what you are truly worth.” He says it like he’s complimenting you for being expensive.

“And how much am I truly worth?”

“I have never seen so priceless a specimen,” he replies. “I would do everything in my power to purchase you should I be given the chance! But that being said, it would make matters marginally simpler, and less risky, if you would...willingly become my sl—mine, before the war ends.” He is too much of a coward to actually say the word “slave”. Excitably, he continues, “I will request for a leave from military service just so I may escort you back to the Capitol and have you legally registered as a domestic servant at my hive—of course, my only command would be that you be considerate to the rest of my property. Some of my robots are as expensive as jadeblood pitch slaves. I will be marginally more tolerant of your...lowblood deficiencies than other highbloods, but of course, it would still be wholly inappropriate if you did not at least eliminate your more barbaric lowblood tendencies, or learn some proper manners. I would be willing to offer my time to train you myself so that you understand your place. I cannot stay indefinitely, of course—I must return to the service, the High Side needs me. But I’d promise to try return to you.”

There is so much you can say in response to that—there is too much you want to say. You want to coldly and methodically rip apart every single word that just came out of his mouth. But you don’t even know where to begin, so you remain silent, staring unnervingly at this utterly ignorant, arrogant, infuriating indigoblood.

The excited expression on his face falls a little when the silence stretches on. “I...can understand why you’d be reluctant,” he says. “Etiquette is indeed difficult to learn, but with an adequate teacher I am confident that you will be very well trained.”

When you continue not to utter a word, he says, “If it really bothers you so much...I will allow you to bring your lowblood moirail—“

You cut him off because you don’t want to him to bring Sollux into this. Sollux has nothing to do with this. So you say, “Have you ever heard of the Handmaid?”

He seems very confused by this abrupt change of subject. “...No,” he replies slowly.

You wonder why you’re telling Zahhak, of all people, about this. You’ve never told anyone except Sollux about this, because Sollux can understand the pain of being specifically targeted and illegally taken advantage of by highbloods, even though his situation was very different.

Zahhak would be the last person to understand.

“She was a rustblood bucket slave who was extremely popular amongst certain highblood circles. She was known for being a quick learner, extremely well-mannered and obedient. Highbloods liked her because they thought she liked what she did, she was always smiling no matter what. Little did they know that she knew smiling would be the easiest way to avoid getting beaten to death. And that she was a kickass actress.”

“How do you know this? Perhaps she truly did enjoy servicing—“

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

Zahhak shuts his fucking mouth, but is only able to maintain his silence for several seconds before he meekly inquires, “What happened to her?”

“She died.”

“Oh.” He fidgets. “Her master must have been distraught.”

“Oh no,” you say flippantly. “She was only a rustblood, even if she was a good girl. Besides, she didn’t have a master. She was just bounced around households.”

“Hmm?” Zahhak sounds genuinely confused. “But all slaves must have at least one official owner—“

“Not in the wiggler pornography business,” you snap, and you close your eyes because you cannot help the tears that sting your eyes. No, no, you will not cry in front of this asshole.

“Wiggler—but that is not legal, wigglers are not allowed to work or be conscripted—“

“I remember when they passed that legislation,” you say. “Technically it outlaws wiggler labor in any caste, but it was written only to glean sympathy for the Empire and to protect young highbloods. Tell me, who would have given a shit about a rustblood?”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation has turned, he says, “It is unfortunate, indeed, but—what is the purpose of telling me this?”

“You said you want to understand why I hate highbloods,” you reply calmly. “This is why.”

He doesn’t seem to be catching on, instead continuing to stare blankly at you, so you plow on, “The fact that you think I don’t have manners or whatever bullshit it is you said—is so hilarious my sides hurt from laughing. I’ve watched and learned the exact motions to get the exact reactions out of highbloods. I can out-etiquette the prissiest fuchsiablood if I ever so pleased. You think I act this way because I _don’t know_ how to be a proper slave? Why is it so impossible for you to believe that it is my _choice_ to act this way? Because doing any remotely nice thing to trolls like you makes me want to _sick myself_?”

He still doesn’t get it, the confused furrow in his brow remaining. “What does this have to do with—“

“You fucking IDIOT!” you explode again. “ _I_ was the fucking Handmaid!”

You watch it as if in slow motion—the way his expression morphs from one of befuddlement to one of horror. His mouth drops open like a puppet’s with its strings cut, and he begins blinking rapidly at you. Finally, as though in denial, he stutters, “You said—you said she died—“

“Yes, but you didn’t ask how, did you?” you say heatedly. “When the war started, I killed the Handmaid for good. No matter what happened—even losing this war—I would never go back to those days again. NEVER. I’d rather die than clean up after sickbloods again.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly from the exertion of your speech, so vehemently did you deliver it. Zahhak says nothing for the longest time yet, looking to the ground, unable to meet your eyes. When he speaks again, he continues to avoid looking at you, his deep voice thick and painfully genuine this time: “I am truly sorry for what happened to you, Aradia. It makes me feel very STRONG rage at the individuals who did that to you—they have no right to call themselves highbloods. They barely deserve to be called trolls and I would very much enjoy bashing their fucking faces in—oh. Oh my. Please. Excuse my extremely vulgar blunder. Anyways. Where was I—ah yes. It displeases me greatly that they touched you and they should not have done it while you were a wiggler—“

You don’t know what exactly it is that completely breaks you apart. The horrible words coming out of his mouth, the absolute confidence he has in his own set of morals, or the way actual goddamn PITY is rolling off his deep voice in waves. But it breaks you apart.

“YOU ABSOLUTE PIECE OF HOOFBEAST _SHIT_!” you roar. “THEY SHOULDN’T HAVE DONE IT TO ME EVER, NOT THEN, NOT NOW, NEVER!” And you are reaching for your whip and swinging it full force at Equius’s face.

You see his deep blue eyes widening, and he quickly steps backward and turns his head to the side—but the tip of your whip still catches his cheek and he lets out a pained yelp as a thick stream of indigo begins flowing from a thick cut on the left side of his face. His cracked shades fly off his face and he drops to his knees in shock. If he hadn’t moved out of the way, you would have taken one of those pretty indigo eyes out.

You watch, a storm of emotions brewing in your chest, and yet again your face falls impassive to conceal it all. You never thought you’d have a highblood at your mercy like this. Facing them in battle is different; there is a level of impersonality in war, where only bullets—no words, no meeting of the eyes, no emotions—are exchanged.

Etiquette is not the only thing you learned from your highblood masters during your wigglerhood. There was never a day that passed where you didn’t witness cruelty. But you promised yourself long ago that you would never grow up to become like them. You would not hurt an individual who was on his knees at your complete mercy for no good reason, because that’s what the highbloods would do. It was part of why you became so enamored—platonically, of course—with Tavros, who was so kind that he wouldn’t hurt anyone even if there WAS a good reason. Tavros might not forget, but he could let go of his hatred toward the people who had hurt him. Probably because he failed to conjure hatred in his bloodpusher in the first place. It only took a few minutes after your first conversation with your bronzeblood best friend for you to know that this was something you wanted to learn from the boy.

But Tavros isn’t here now, and even though rationally, you know that none of this is his fault, you are being irrational right now and you feel like Tavros abandoned you for a purpleblood. And you forget about the promises you made yourself, because right now there is a highblood on his knees at your mercy and the only thing you want to do is make him HURT—make him hurt so that you don’t have to think about him in any other context. Besides, you’re only doing what this sickblood deserves. Sickbloods are terrible and you wouldn’t be doing this if they hadn’t done it to you first.

And even though your main emotion at the moment is rage, there is a small flame flickering in your gut that is—morbidly _aroused_ by the sight of Equius Zahhak bleeding on the ground, for _you_.

“And you won’t do it to me ever, either, Equius,” you say softly, calling him by first name for the first time. “So let’s do this properly. Take off your shirt and turn around.” Your voice is still soft, but there is absolutely no waver in it. There is not a millimeter of room for doubt that this is an order. And your voice doesn’t betray the fact that rust-colored blood is thundering in your head.

He kneels there for a long time, not moving, but you can detect the tiny tremor that travels up and down his hardened muscles. You are about to repeat your command, when he says, in the tiniest voice, “Yes, Aradia.”

A disorienting combination of glee and pity surges in your stomach, but you ignore it. You allow him to take his time as he fumbles with his shirt and pulls it over his head, clumsily setting it down beside him. You try not to admire his well-defined chest and packed abdominals, because—well, damn. And then he turns on his knees so that his back is facing you, and again, you try to ignore the way the curve of his spine runs down his back like a river cutting smoothly through a slab of shiny flesh.

“You, too, are a fine specimen,” you say, unable to help yourself. “And I didn’t have to pay a single penny for you. Unfortunately I’m not above damaging my own property.”

“Property?” he breathes, sounding both excited and terrified, but your arm is already raised above your head, whip poised—

“ARADIA! EQUIUS!” someone screams somewhere from somewhere outside. There is the sound of feet storming in your direction, and the sound of splashing—water? And then right outside the rock that blockades this room from the rest of the cave, the voice screams again, “ARADIA! EQUIUS! Are you in there?”

You quickly put your arm down. “What is it, Nepeta?” you ask, surprising yourself with how, well, normal and concerned you sound.

“PLEASE COME OUT HERE, QUICK! SOLLUX SAYS THE HIGHBLOODS ARE ATTACKING THE PLATOON RIGHT NOW! AND THE CAVE IS FLOODING FROM THE STORM!”

—> BE TEREZI PYROPE

The random shooting continues for an indefinite amount of time—minutes? Hours? Until you suddenly hear the faint sound of a rhythmic splashing, and you realize it’s the sound of a hoofbeast galloping through the rain.

One of the lowbloods—the one you recall the others called “Commander Dammek”, shouts, “This way, everyone! Plan B in action! Goldbloods, you know what to do.”

“Followw them!” Eridan’s booming voice follows soon thereafter. “Don’t let ‘em get awway!”

And suddenly the number fleeing footsteps multiplies, and the sound of gunfire coming from the Low Side thins out the slightest bit. Your feet are on autopilot as they trudge in the direction that you can hear the lowbloods fleeing. It’s difficult to move quickly, now that the rain has flooded the ground so badly that the water level underfoot has climbed up past your ankles.

You jump when you hear the loud click of a rifle being reloaded and mounted, somewhere not too far ahead of you. Out of instinct, you duck, and sure enough, the loud BANG of a gunshot rattles your eardrums not two seconds later. You feel a bullet graze the tips of your frazzled, matted, rain-soaked hair.

And then you hear the dull thud and squelch that you recognize as the sound of a bullet piercing flesh. Directly behind you, someone lets out a scream of surprise and agony.

Shakily, you stand up straight once again. If you hadn’t ducked in time, that screaming person would be you, and the soldier behind you would still be alive. Tegiri Kalbur continues screaming for about three more seconds before his voice grows hoarse and abruptly stops. You don’t even have time to register that he’s dead, before his corpse suddenly falls right on top of you. You yelp and lose balance, flailing wildly as you attempt to catch yourself, but instead of landing on the ground as you expected, you fall face first into a deep pool of water.

Even though you were already cold and drenched from the downpour, being entirely submerged in water manages to feel even icier—your teeth would be chattering loudly had you not just inhaled and swallowed a few mouthfuls of water. Your throat and lungs burn for air, and you flail wildly, trying to resurface and take a much-needed breath, but Tegiri’s waterlogged corpse is still tangled around your head and shoulders and he’s weighing you down. The water is so deep that your toes barely touch the floor. You’re starting to get so lightheaded from lack of breathing that you start to see colored spots behind the curtain of your blindness. Of all the ways you thought you might die one day, drowning was never one of them. You think about how you’ll die without ever tasting or smelling anything again—how the water will seep into the dead cells of your body and turn it to mush. And somehow the image is so revolting that you muster up the strength to give Tegiri’s heavy body a massive shove—and suddenly your shoulders are free of his dead weight and your head re-emerges above the surface of the water. You bob up and down in the water as you gasp for breath, and even though air is colorless and odorless, it has never tasted sweeter.

For a few moments, you are still disoriented and confused about what the fuck happened, but after you calm down somewhat, it becomes obvious. The lowbloods must have dug trenches around their camp to serve as a basic line of defense against attackers--but because of the rain, those trenches have flooded over and turned into rivers. You attempt to swim to the other side, but the harsh wind is forcing the current against you and you find yourself unable to move. You struggle, your arms getting tired from your strokes, and then your arm collides with a large object floating on the surface of the water. You grab it without a second thought, using it as a floatie of sorts as you kick your legs as hard as you can and swim to the other side of the deep trench. Only after you have scrambled out of the water do you realize that the floating object you essentially used as a raft was Tegiri’s dead body. You swallow; he was an asshole in life, but it’s hard to dislike him now that he’s nothing more than a sack of flesh and bones floating in a muddy pool. Hastily, you pull his corpse out of the water, and you decide that taking a bullet that was meant for you (even if it was by accident) is enough to merit him as a gentleman. So, true to your promise, you lick his face so hard he would’ve come in his pants if he were still alive. Ha. He tastes like lukewarm sea foam.

You continue your pursuit of the lowbloods. They seem to be fleeing into a more heavily wooded area; several times you narrowly avoid running into trees. Around you, your surviving highblood comrades all seem to be having the same shitty luck with the trees; if there loud complaints are to be believed, it’s starting to get so foggy from the storm that visibility is no more than ten feet.

You continue foraging through the thick woods, and you really have to give the lowbloods credit for being able to navigate this kind of terrain so quickly--

Your ankle catches on a twisted tree root on the ground, and you fall face first onto the ground--you yelp as you feel the tendons in your ankle twisting and spraining--

Around you, your highblood comrades continue to pursue the lowbloods through the trees. You bite your lip to distract yourself from the pain pulsing hotly through your ankle, and you’re already on your knees, preparing to push yourself up, when you hear it.

“Where the fuck did the shitbloods go? Is this a trap--AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

The scream is long and drawn out. Dying shouldn’t take this long, you think. The hollering voice gets fainter and fainter until it fades away into nothingness, and then there’s just an eerie silence in its wake.

“What the fuck was that?” someone asks.

You kneel there on the ground, too terrified to move, and your fellow soldiers seem to be catching wind that something isn’t quite right here.

“Where’d the lowbloods go?” someone else hisses. The voice’s owner rustles around through the trees for a bit, looking around. “Did they hide--HOLY SHIT! CLIFF--CLIFF!”

The person screams in a fashion similar to the previous troll, her voice growing ever more distant until it disappears altogether, and it takes a few seconds for you to realize what happened.

This must be what the lowbloods’ Commander Dammek referred to as “Plan B”—the lowbloods, ever more familiar with the landscape than you highbloods, would flee to this part of the forest , knowing that the highbloods would follow, and, taking advantage of the low visibility, lead you all straight off the edge of a cliff while they remained tucked somewhere within the trees.

If you hadn’t tripped and sprained your ankle, would you have done the same as those two unfortunate souls—stumbled blindly off the cliff and tumbled to your demise?

But the lowblood commander had also said, “Goldbloods, you know what to do.” What did the yellowbloods have to—

_Tick tick tick tick—_

It’s so quiet that you almost fail to hear it. But it’s there—a quiet, metronomical ticking that’s audible beneath the sound of the rain, wind, and the confused murmurs or your colleagues. Speaking of which, where actually are the lowbloods? They’ve stopped shooting, gone awfully silent—

_Tick tick tick tick—_

No one else on your platoon seems to have noticed the ticking sound, but somehow you simply can’t dismiss it. It’s only one among a plethora of other sounds bombarding your eardrums, and far from the most noticeable, too, but there’s just something...unnatural...and familiar...about it...

And all of sudden, you do not give a flying shit about your sprained ankle. You’re leaping to your feet and you don’t even wince at the sharp pain in your foot. You’ve heard that sound before—back in training, when they told you to ABSCOND AT ALL COSTS if you encountered such a situation. You turn and run as fast as you can in the direction that you came from.

_Tick tick tick--_

“THEY’RE BLOWING THIS PLACE UP!” you holler as you sprint away, barely registering that the panicked, screeching yell is coming from you. “THEY’VE GOT EXPLOSIVES!”

“What the fuck, Pyrope? Bombs don’t work in the rain--”

_BOOOOOOOOOOM_

The blast shakes the ground on which you stand so violently that you worry that you’ll be blasted off the cliff. Desperately, you hug a tree, clinging to it like a lifeline--

_BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM_

The explosion this time is even louder, and a sharp ringing explodes in your thinkpan, drowning out the chaotic noises happening all around you. When you reach up to clutch your head, you realize that your ears are warm and wet with your blood. They’re bleeding. You realize that despite how violently the ground is shaking, you need to keep running, so you detach yourself from the tree and continue sprinting ahead. Behind you, your comrades have finally realized that you were right after all; that somehow, the lowbloods managed to develop some kind of waterproof bomb. They’re not far behind you as they, too, attempt to run away, but many of them are still in the blast zone and completely vulnerable--

_BOOOOOOOM_

The explosion’s not as loud this time, but you’re not sure if it’s because your head has been invaded by this alarming ringing noise, or if it’s because you’ve run far enough away from the blast--

_Bam!_

You nearly jump out of your skin when something flies over your head from behind you and collides with a tree a few feet ahead of you. The force of the blast must have propelled it here. Suddenly, the stench of charred, burning flesh and blueberry tea explodes in your nostrils. It’s a troll. You don’t know if he or she is still alive or not, but the scent is so tantalizingly vivid and so alarmingly familiar that you scoop the troll up in your arms without a second thought and continue fleeing from the danger zone.

→ BE VRISKA SERKET

“Miss...Legislacerator?” you murmur, dazed, confused, scared, and most of all, in complete and utter agony.

→ BE TAVROS NITRAM

If spending time around rustbloods has taught you anything, it’s that they can be awfully talkative and persistent. Your best friend Aradia certainly possessed no shortage of either characteristic. She always spoke with passion and excitement about matters both large and small, and if she wanted to get a point across, she would stop at nothing to make sure it was drilled into your memory forever! But it helped that you and Aradia shared many common interests--mainly, heroes and adventures. Before she and Sollux became moirails, she and you spent many a morning chattering, spinning up increasingly exaggerated tall tales each day, until the sun was at full bloom in the sky. It started happening less after she began her moirallegiance with your goldblood friend, but sometimes, you would still go to bed listening to her melodious voice as she talked about anything and everything, and on those days your daymares would be less intense.

Xefros Tritoh, like Aradia, is awfully talkative and persistent, and while these traits remind you of your best friend, the similarities end there. Xefros isn’t bad: really, he isn’t, but unfortunately he’s chosen an uncomfortable and frankly, bewildering topic to make the subject of your conversations.

At the beginning of this three-day voyage toward the Capitol, you were dismayed by what you thought was Xefros’s extremely strange sense of humor. Now you just think he’s, uh, slightly insane.

“Tavros!” he cries excitedly, somehow still managing to sound optimistic despite the situation. It’s crowded in this vehicle, about a hundred lowblood prisoners huddled all over the cold metal floor. You’ve lost track of how long you’ve already been in here; the total length of the journey is only supposed to be three days, but you feel like you’ve been enclosed in this metal hovercraft, with no food or water, for so long that you’ve forgotten what the sky looks like. Yet at the same time, it feels like only mere moments have passed, because you know that once you arrive in the Capitol, you’ll be counting the seconds till your trial and painful death.

The other prisoners glare at Xefros for being so loud and for moving around so much. He’s helping you turn onto your back for about the hundredth time in the past day. Or at least you think it’s been a day. The hovercraft is windowless and you have no real way of estimating the time, and you’re not about to ask the mean clown lady or the two other subjugglator guards for the time. Your immobile lower half has been wracked with terrible spasms lately, but changing positions seems to help, if only for a little while. You have no way of feeling the spasms in your legs, but they are so forceful that they rock your upper body, too, and make it impossible for you to lie peacefully. You suspect it’s because the muscles in your paralyzed legs are contracting from disuse, and because of your abrupt withdrawal from sleeping in sopor--Feferi had explained to you once that sopor helped relax the taut, damaged nerves in your spine. You feel like you’re being betrayed by your body—by parts of it you can’t even feel, or control—and it’s terrible.

You groan when Xefros sets you back down on the ground; your back is sore and you want to stretch, but there’s no way of accomplishing that with your disability in this crowded space. Even the simple act of changing positions exhausts you, even though Xefros was the one doing all the work, so you take several moments to collect yourself before you answer, guardedly, “What?”

“I’m telling you, Tavros, you can do it!”

“Not this, again.”

“But Tavros—“

“No, I can’t!”

“Yes you can!”

“No, Xefros!”

He seems to have gotten into his head that when you go to trial, you should do something so defiant that you leave the entire Imperial court shaken. “Flip the Empress off, or something!” was one of the many ludicrous suggestions he’d given you.

“Tell them you’re quadranted to a highblood!” is what he’s saying now. “That’ll knock their socks and their shoes right off!”

“I’m not dragging Gamzee into this,” you snap.

“No, you don’t have to tell them about Gamzee,” he reassures. “There’s no need to tell them the truth! Just name some random highblood troll you met back there. This is all about fucking with their heads, that’s all!”

“No, I don’t want to have anything to do with, uh, head-fucking, or anything, of that nature,” you insist. “I’m just going to do whatever they tell me to do, and uh, avoid drawing unnecessary attention, uh, since I will probably get a lot of that, for my legs, already, and hope the verdict’s not too, painful. I’ll leave the, um, disrespectful fucking of heads, and flipping off of the Empress, in court, to other, uh, stronger and, braver, soldiers.”

“But Tavros,” Xefros pleads, “it won’t be as effective if anyone else does it. These trials are Capitol spectacles—they probably see angry, disrespectful prisoners all the time!”

“And those are the ones who get the worst executions.”

“You’re not going to die, Tavros,” Xefros declares, and at your incredulous look the rustblood continues, “I just have a feeling! You’re...you’re part of a bigger equation. Something’s gonna happen and...you’re important!”

“You only think so, because I saved your moirail,” you insist. “You’re biased.”

“No, it’s not just my bias talking, I swear. Your trial is gonna be a huge example of why the highbloods shouldn’t fuck with lowbloods! Because someone like you might turn up and they’ll be running for the hills—“

“I really, don’t understand, how anything about me will scare the highbloods, or anyone at all, really—“

“Because you’re so nice, Tavros, imagine if some terrible insult came out of your sweet face. I’d be crushed.”

“That’s only because, we’re friends!”

“Aw Tavros, I’m happy to hear that!” Xefros exclaims, startling you with a quick hug. But as he pulls away his expression turns more serious. “But hear me out. Why does the Capitol always publicly try the strongest, scariest Low Side soldiers?”

“Because...they want to make them look pathetic and crush the Low Side spirits?”

“Well...that too, but it’s also because only the strongest even survive long enough to go to a trial. And then there’s you, and you’re ridiculously young and tiny and you’ve been crippled but you’ll be sitting in that courtroom representing the lowbloods strongwill. If I were the Empress I’d be intimidated.”

“That’s why, you’re not the Empress,” you murmur. “Xefros, did you listen to what you, just said? I’m too young, I’m tiny, I’m crippled. The only reason I’m still alive is because Gamzee protected me. I’m only going to become laughingstock. The only reason I’m going to trial is a joke—“

“No, it’s not a joke!” Xefros says so vehemently that you shut up. “Tavros, you’re young and tiny and crippled but a seadweller still felt threatened enough by you to send you to trial. For communing with lusii—I’m telling you that’s an extraordinary power!”

“A pretty useless one, though—“

“You don’t know that. Besides, if Gamzee’s chucklevoodoos are as strong as you claim, that means both of you are incredible psychics and it can’t be a coincidence that you became matesprits.”

You don’t even attempt to correct him about your quadrant status anymore. After about fifty million times it’s probably futile. You wonder what would happen if Nepeta and Xefros ever got talking, and shudder. “I said, I’m not dragging him, into this.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Xefros says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You don’t have to bring him up, or anything—in fact don’t bring him up, if he’s an ally we don’t want anyone to suspect him. No, I was just making a general observation about you guys, I mean, even before the revolution it was unheard of for lowbloods and highbloods to enter red quadrants together. And now we’re in the middle of this raging war and the two of you get together and the strangest circumstances? I really think that maybe you two can change the tides of this war!”

“Even if Gamzee and I really were, uh, that powerful—which he is, actually, uh, but I am not—I sincerely doubt that, the work of two trolls can, uh, cause the tides, to change direction, in this war that is. I mean, the tides of war are already changing because of—“ you glance around surreptitiously to ensure that none of the subjugglators are listening (they’re not; they’re harassing some other unfortunate prisoners at the moment)—“the High Side’s so-called, secret weapon.”

Xefros suddenly looks looks thoughtful. “Don’t you think it’s curious,” he says, “that the High Side’s managed to keep their ‘weapon’ a secret from the Low Side, but then you were the one to find out about it? I swear, Tavros, this just proves my point—you’re important in this war, this is fate’s calling!”

“I don’t believe in fate.”

“Yes you do! I can see it in your eyes.”

“You should really, stop looking at my eyes, then.” It’s not the first time Xefros has inferred something about you by “seeing it in your eyes”, and you’re always unpleasantly surprised by how right he is always is. Yes, you do believe in fate, but you really don’t want to believe in it right now; you don’t want to believe that fate intended your current and future misery all along: that every hope and dream you ever had were all for naught (even though they are).

“Besides,” you continue, “it doesn’t matter, that I know about the weapon. A, we don’t know what the weapon, even is, and B, even if we did, uh, the Low Side’s, probably not powerful enough to fight it, anyway.”

“I bet Mistress would know what it is, she’s close to the Empress,” Xefros mutters, eyes growing glassy and distant. You suddenly feel guilty for saying anything that reminded Xefros of his mistress. You’re such a prick for lamenting your own poor fortune and constantly worrying over your trial and ignoring poor Xefros here! You remind yourself that his imminent future is not much better than yours. He’s been painfully sparse regarding details of his fuchsiablood owner, but the haunted look in his eyes at the mere mention of her is indication enough of her disposition. It’s one thing not to know what’s going to happen to you once you arrive in the Capitol, but another entirely to know exactly what’s going to happen to you, which is the case for your new burgundyblood friend. Xefros and Dammek have spent so many sweeps fighting for freedom from their highblood masters, and now Xefros is going right back for a whole lifetime of misery.

You touch the crook of his elbow lightly, shaking him out of his reverie. “Uh, hey,” you croak, trying to smile. “I’m sorry I brought up, any thoughts that may have been, uh, unwelcome.”

He shakes his head a few times as though trying to rid himself of his thoughts. He smiles at you a bit strainedly. “No, no, it’s my fault for being so emotional about inevitable things,” he says. “Sorry.”

You don’t understand why Xefros looks at you like that, with hope and optimism gleaming in his eyes, despite the utter bleakness of—well, everything. “What would you even have me do, at the trial?” you ask defeatedly. “Preach about kindness and pity and hemocaste equality?” You meant it as sarcasm, but the look in Xefros’s eyes indicates that he is not taking it as such. “Xefros, even if that weren’t, a completely useless, tactic, I can’t do that because, uh, if you haven’t noticed, words, are not something I am very good with, especially, in front of a lot of other trolls, and especially, if those other trolls, are all, um, vicious highbloods.”

“I haven’t noticed at all,” he immediately insists. “You’re great with words, even if your syntax is kind of convoluted. Um, sorry about that by the way. I didn’t mean it as an insult! And anyway, you shouldn’t underestimate the power of words. You know, when I was your age, and still a slave, I was the most useless kind of lowblood. I didn’t like my life but I fully intended to just live it out the way it was. Never questioned it or anything. But then one day Dammek sat me down and told me about his dreams about a revolution. Just words! And look where we are now. Well, maybe that isn’t a great example, because both of us have been captured, but—look where we were! We were fighting for our people. I was a soldier! All because of Dammek’s words were so powerful.”

“But that’s different!” you protest. “I mean—of course! Dammek is your moirail and he’s—Dammek! He’s a hero!”

“You’re a hero too, Tavros! You just haven’t had the chance to stand in front of a group of people and gain their loyalty!” At your slightly despairing expression, he amends, “Oh! I mean, you can do that, sitting, too, I guess. But this trial is your chance to have your message heard—in front of all of Alternia!”

“A hero, is not something that I am, Xefros,” you say. “Heroes are strong, and brave, like Pupa Pan! I’m just a, stupid lowblood kid, basically, who’s barely left wigglerhood. A fucking coward that can’t even walk, who’s already been broken, by the war.”

“Not being able to walk doesn’t make you not a hero. It doesn’t matter what you’re like on the outside, it’s what’s in here that matters!” He pats his chest proudly. “That’s what Dammek always told me. And you’re definitely stronger and braver than you think, on the inside. Trust me, Tavros, I’ve seen people who have really been broken by this war.” He swallows, the haunted look briefly returning to his eyes. “The only thing the highbloods broke was your spine. Come on, that doesn’t matter! You’re still a survivor.”

As if on command, your fucked-up spine chooses that moment to act out again, sending another bout of spasms through your lower body. Xefros is kneeling by your side quicker than you can blink, heaving you into his skinny arms once again with no small amount of effort. “C’mon, let’s get you comfortable,” he pants. You can feel the other lowbloods watching as Xefros puts you down, on your side this time. You have to turn your head at a weird angle to accomplish this, because of your stupid horns. “Is this okay?” he asks, as he watches you attempt to resituate your head at a comfortable angle.

You are quiet for a long time, seriously considering Xefros’s question. Finally, you look up at him with earnest eyes. “Why are you so good to me?” you whisper. You can understand why Gamzee looked after you--after all, hadn’t he called you pitiable while hugging your small, crippled form to his chest? The mere memory of it makes your bloodpusher hurt. And Feferi--you’re not entirely sure what her motivations were, but at the very least she saw you as some poor, unfortunate, lowblood creature to whom someone with her medical abilities could provide assistance. Terezi had been nice, she’d talked to you--to amuse herself, maybe?

But Xefros--he may have the use of his legs still, but that’s pretty much the only privilege he has that you lack. The two of you are stuck in this hellhole of a hovercraft together, and he’d been penned up at Lotam for longer than you’d been. Caste-wise, he’s even lower than you are. What possibly could he have to gain, tending to you hand and foot as if you were some noble seadweller, and not just a fellow lowblood wretch?

“Because you remind me of Dammek,” he replies swiftly. “And I’m telling you, I’m not always excited like this. Back in Lotam I was...in a pretty bad place, before you came along. But then you came along and what you told me about...yourself, and Gamzee, and your lowblood friends and everything...it not only reminded me why I--no, we--worked so hard fighting for our cause, but it also showed me that there might be hope for all of trollkind after all. Not just some of us on either side of the hemospectrum, you know? That we’re not a completely doomed species.”

Your jaw hangs open as you listen to Xefros singing you undeserved praise. Before you can even begin to think of a response, he smiles again and says, “That’s why I think you’re special. I believe in you--”

“HAHAHAHA!”

Both you and Xefros jump, startled out of your skin by the clown lady’s sudden appearance. Holy shit, when did she even make her way over here? You flinch when she lifts a foot and steps on the back of Xefros’s head, pressing his face down onto the cold metal floor. It’s not enough to injure him, but enough to elicit some startled whimpers out of the poor rustblood.

“Did y’all hear THAT?” she cackles. “The shitblood said he BELIEVES in this sack of muscleBEAST poop.” Without lifting her foot off of Xefros, she drags you up by the elbow so that you are suspended in half-standing position, displaying you (to a mostly terrified audience) like a trophy. “Here I was, thinkin’ that the lowbloods were a bunch of sacrilegious heathens, but THIS? Hahaha! Well, looks like the scum under our highblood boots have got themselves a sprinkle of faith, ain’t that cute? So he believes in his little messiah now, doesn’t he? What do y’all call your house of prayer? The Cult of the Crippled Sex Slut? HAhahahahaHA!”

You feel a rare flare of anger pulse through your veins as you watch the way the purpleblood female continues to dig her heel into the back of poor, sweet Xefros’s head. You grit your teeth against the pain in your elbow and shoulder from the way she’s pulling you and, feeling reckless, you blurt out, “Well, we, uh, actually hadn’t come up with a name for our, um, faith, yet, but since you gave the first suggestion, we’ll, put in under consideration. Actually, consideration is over, and I’m afraid I’ll have to disqualify, your entry, because that name is simply, uh, terrible.”

The clown lady’s head snaps toward you and suddenly you cower, wondering why you said all of that, as she grills you with the full force of her angry orange gaze. “Who said you could TALK? I think it’s a great NAME for a blasphemous lot of scumblood low-life wannabes.” she snarls, forcefully throwing you back down. Your horn ricochets off the metal floor and black spots explode in front of your eyes as pain and dizziness invade your thinkpan.

Your vaguely aware of the clown lady shouting something vile to Xefros before she stomps away, the lowbloods in her rage path either getting painfully trampled or wisely scooting out of the way. You moan, clutching at your head, and suddenly you feel Xefros’s warm body crouching over you as he frantically asks if you’re okay. You want to reassure him, but suddenly you consider your actions in the context of what Xefros has been trying to tell you.

Were you really just brave enough to stand up (metaphorically speaking, of course) to a subjugglator?

But you quickly dismiss this notion. The clown lady was abusing Xefros so of course you had to say something to distract her. Besides, you have a personal feud against that woman, who had dared to spread your useless legs apart and play with your nook with her dirty fingers and make you pretend to enjoy it. You were already pretty angry with her. So what if you stood up to her? That doesn’t mean you’ll be able to do the same to a courtroom full of highbloods and the fucking Empress.

So you don’t answer Xefros, allowing his voice to turn into a comforting drone of noise as you close your eyes and allow unconsciousness to provide you some temporary relief from reality.

\-----

You shouldn’t have allowed unconsciousness to take over.

When you open your eyes again, you’ve already arrived at the Capitol.

The hovercraft has pulled in at a loading station somewhere deep underground, beneath the Imperial Palace. The loading station leads to a heavily guarded underground tunnel system, which is spread out like a maze. One of those tunnels leads to the Palace dungeons. The others lead directly to the sea, ensuring capture or death by drowning for any prisoners who attempt to escape—or so you are told by the subjugglator guards.

“Welcome home, shitbloods!” one of the guards calls out, malice dripping from his voice. “It’s been a shitty three days and you pile of stinkin’ fucking carcasses ain’t the best of company. There’s a hot ablution and meal waitin’ for us back at the hive so make this snappy or fuckin’ regret it. So you better hope you stupid fucks can read ‘cause there should be a number we imprinted on your arm; you have five minutes, single file line right over here in numerical order. Anyone outta line by the time we’ve reached 300 seconds fucking gets kneecapped, am I fucking clear?” He waves a pistol menacingly over his head. “Ready set GO GO GO!”

Immediately, the lowbloods zip into action, pushing and shoving around frantically as they hasten to get into position. They step over and around you, and you do your best to tuck your legs in so that no one trips on them. You feel your bloodpusher sinking as you watch them go; how the fuck are you going to accomplish this?

Suddenly someone is grabbing your arm and you spin your head around to find that Xefros is still crouching by your side. He turns your forearm so that the scars from the branding iron are visible. “Fuck. 87,” he mumbles under his breath, reading off your arm.

“What, uh, number are you?”

He raises his own forearm to show you. “Twenty-two,” you read aloud. You swallow, your throat closing up. “Well, I guess this is goodbye then--”

“Fuck that,” Xefros says through gritted teeth, surprising you. You have no chance to react before he’s pulling your legs out from under you and hooking an arm under each one. He starts to stand up and you flail in panic for a moment before latching your arms desperately around his neck. He heaves himself up and, with you on his back, heads determinedly towards the line.

“Fuck—Xefros, what are you, doing? Put me down!”

“I’m getting us in line,” he says.

“Xefros, no—you’ll get, in trouble, if you don’t—“

Xefros hastily takes his place between prisoners number 86 and 88 just as the shrill sound of a whistle pierced the air. “All right, time’s up!” the subjugglator calls, and he goes to the beginning of the line to check that everyone is indeed in order.

You can feel Xefros’s thin frame shaking as the subjugglator draws nearer and nearer, and you’re sure that the burden of your weight is not the only reason he’s quaking, this time. You yourself feel just about ready to vomit your pounding bloodpusher onto the ground, so nervous are you about the guard’s approach.

“What the fuck is this?” the guard barks when he’s standing right in front of you and Xefros.

You bow your head, as if that will somehow repel the subjugglator’s attention. “I’m, uh, 87, sir, you squeak.”

“Did you shit-for-brains not hear what I fucking said? Single-file or it’s a fucking kneecap!” With that, he grabs Xefros’s arm, causing your leg to thud limply to the ground.

“Twenty-two, what the fuck are you doing here?” the man snarls after he’s seen the brand marks on Xefros’s arm. “Put him the fuck down, he’s a big boy and needs to walk on his own.”

“I’m sorry, sir! With all due respect, I’m only carrying...eighty-seven because he can’t walk. I understood your orders but wished to help you save time...since it would probably take longer if we had to wait for him, um, drag himself here.”

“Haha! So you’re a sweet-talker,” the guard laughs. “Your masters must have trained you well. But I ain’t your master and I told you to put him the fuck down and get in your own fucking position!” He glances at you. “If he really can’t walk someone else can drag him on the floor where he belongs. GET MOVING, SHITBLOOD!”

“Xefros, please, this isn’t, worth it!” you hiss in his ear. “Just put me down. It won’t be, uh, too bad.”

But Xefros resolutely ignores you. “I’m really, really, really sorry sir,” he shakily addresses the guard. “I accept any punishment, but please just let me carry him there.”

“I said no.”

“Please, sir—“

“What did I say about taking more than five minutes? You have till the count of three to put him the fuck down and get your ass in your own place in line, twenty-two! ONE!”

“Xefros! Shit Xefros what are you doing—“ you plead.

He simply bows his head in defeat, shaking harder than ever.

“TWO—“ the subjugglator raises his gun.

_BANG!_

The gunshot makes both you and Xefros cry out, and for several dizzying seconds you think your rustblood friend has been shot. But he’s still standing, unblemished. His arm, however, is spattered with blood that is not his own.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever kneecapped someone,” the clown lady says, cackling as she pockets her own smoking gun and walks over. “Kinda anticlimactic.”

You look down and realize that is your own kneecap that she shattered, and that the warm sticky liquid spattered all over yourself and Xefros is your chocolate blood. You cannot imagine how much that would’ve hurt if you could feel it.

Xefros is shouting your name in panic, and the clown lady laughs harder. “Look at the shitblood carryin’ his liTTLE messiah! If this ain’t cute I don’t know what is. Ain’t this a pretty picture? Yes it is.” She pulls something out of her pocket—a...camera? You frown at it in confusion, and before you know it there’s a bright flash in your face and the woman is admiring the picture she took of you and Xefros on her camera screen. “Ooh, fierce,” she comments. “Perfect for the scrapbook. This’ll make a fuckload of chatter! Look how loyal the shitblood is to his pathetic messiah!”

“Chahut, now is not that time for your stupid scrapbook!” the other subjugglator yells. “For the messiahs’ mirthful sake, we have a job to do!”

“Don’t be a prick, I can’t help when inspiration strikes my fucking muse,” Chahut dismisses. “ALL RIGHT, SWEETIE-PIES, FOLLOW THE GUARDS OUT THAT WAY, WE’RE GETTIN’ YOU TO YOUR CELLS,” she hollers.

Chahut’s subjugglator companion is not amused. “I had it handled, you overbearing bitch! And what about that blasphemous pair—“ he points at you two—“they’re not in the right place in line!”

“Let the rustblood serve his little messiah for a little longer,” Chahut smiles. “Let’s see how long it takes for their little fake religion to fuck itself into the ground.”

As you and the other lowbloods are marched towards the prison, you look at your knee and fail to summon horror at your new injury. You are just upset the Chahut’s bullet blew a hole through Gamzee’s pants and stained them with your blood. They’re the last you have of the purpleblood and you miss him so very, very, very much.

→ BE FEFERI PEIXES

There is a saying that the Imperial Palace is so gargantuan, that one can see it from anywhere on Alternia—even from the opposite side of the planet, one can see the pointy tips of its spires.

This, of course, is an exaggeration, but as you stand before the sparkling, grandiose building, you think that it wasn’t so ridiculous an exaggeration after all. Because the size of this thing really is ridiculous.

There are twelve large gates on the frontal facade of the structure, two guards flanking each one. The guards are all violetbloods. Getting past them is not the problem here. As a fuchsiablood, you have a significant degree of political power and have free access to certain parts of the palace, but in the past you’ve never taken advantage of this privilege. No, the problem now is somehow persuading one of the guards to take you to a part of the palace you are pretty sure you are not authorized to visit: the prison.

You’re dressed in your finest clothes and most elaborate jewelry, hoping that your posh,wealthy appearance will help sway the guards (and hide your nervousness). You look down at yourself and suddenly find that your expensive clothes and accessories are pretty glubbing ridiculous. You used to love dressing up, but being in a war has sobered you out of that. It’s too late to change out of them now, so you brush yourself off, making sure your fuchsia sign is visible, and walk towards one of the guards.

The guard frowns when he sees you approaching, but when he sees your sign, his eyes widen and he bows deeply. “Welcome to the Imperial Palace, highblood! How may I serve you on your esteemed visit?”

For a moment, you’re about to thank him for his hospitality, but you remember something Eridan told you. “Never be polite wwhen you’re tryin’ to get somethin’ you wwant. People wwon’t listen if you’re all polite an’ stuff.”

So you flip your hair haughtily and say, “Well, I am just about fed up with this humid weather! If I’m not shown inside I will be very unhappy!”

“Yes—of course, highblood!” The guard bows once more and opens the gate for you and leads you inside.

You’re in the grand hall of the palace, and there doesn’t seem to be much going on today, save for a bunch of servants bustling about. Still, you comment, “Looks like a busy day today!” You look at the guard and flutter your eyelashes innocently. “Is it because...of the new prisoners-of-war?”

The guard looks surprised. “How did you know…?”

“Oh, a little birdie told me,” you say nonchalantly. “I hear all kinds of things, being fuchsiablood and all. I’m sure you wouldn’t know that feeling, would you, lowblood?” You giggle as if you had just told a wonderful joke.

The violetblood is clearly offended, but doesn’t dare say so since you are indeed higher-blooded than him. “Ah, yes, forgive me for assuming your ignorance, highblood. I should’ve known.”

“Yes, you should’ve!” you sniff. “Perhaps I must report to the Empress that her staff are inadequate.”

Color drains from the violetblood’s face, but admirably, he does not lose composure. “Ah, I see, well, I will work towards...achieving better performance. In the meantime...would you like to see Her Highness? She may have an appointment right now but—“

“No, not today,” you say. “I’m more interested in the lowblood prisoners-of-war. Take me to see them.”

Silence.

Your bloodpusher starts to pound, but you feign confusion as you look at the violetblood, who is now shuffling uncomfortably on his feet. “Now, what’s the matter? Have you got to pee? I don’t have all day for this and I reely don’t want to wait for you to do your business!”

“Um, no. But...I’m afraid I can’t escort you there unless you have express permission to visit the prisoners, highblood.”

“Oh, I assure you I just want to look around, you know? I’ve heard the Low Side soldiers are awfully feisty, if you know what I mean.”

“Um, yes, but if you are interested them, you can observe them at the lowblood trials two days from now, and you can also purchase them at the following auction—“

“But what’s the point of that? I don’t want to squabble with the rest of you lowbloods at some auction!” you complain. “I want my first pick.”

“Highblood, most of the prisoners of war are out-of-bounds—you cannot take them home until they have been tried in court. The Empress is personally awaiting their appearances. Only if they are sentenced to slavery can you make your claim.”

Your bloodpusher sinks at that, but you suppose you still need to try. If even if you can’t take Tavros back with you, you have medical supplies and some food and water in your handbag in case he needs some patching up and feeding, and you also just really want to see him.

“I promise I’m just curious,” you say, putting on a pair of pleading eyes. “I just want a look, while they’re fresh.”

When he continues to look unsure, you sigh, dig through your handbag, and pull out an envelope. And then you dig some more and pull out a 1000-boondollar bill. You slip it in the envelope. “Will this convince you? Sir?” you say.

You can see the greed that immediately lights up in the guard’s eyes. You feel momentary disgust—if this were Eridan, he would never succumb to something as low as taking a bribe. But this guard’s greed is working to your advantage. Besides, you don’t give a glub about what Eridan would or would not have done, anymore.

——-

The guard is less greedy than you would have liked—but still greedy, so after you offer him 6500 boondollars, he agrees to take you down to the dungeons.

“I will speak of this to no one,” you swear, as he leads you through winding corridor after winding corridor.

You and the guard have reached a dark room with an elevator shaft when suddenly, there are a pair of footsteps behind you. Startled, you turn around, and you meet the eyes of a troll you would really have preferred never to see ever again. She’s never wronged you in any way, but out of all your highblood contemporaries, she is the one that rubs you in the wrong way the most. You find her vanity, arrogance, and unkindness unmatched.

She, too, is surprised to see you. “Feferi! Whoa, I did not expect to see ya today! Even less in a place like this! But it’s been far too long, hasn’t it? How’s our little war veteran doing?” She steps forward and seizes your hand to shake it.

You grit your teeth, resisting the urge to rip your hand out of her grasp. “Hello, Trizza,” you greet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP TEGIRI.
> 
> Fuck Arquius for turning my beautiful fic into borderline S&M. 
> 
> Also, congratulations for reaching the end of this wall of text. At 14,000 words+ this is the longest chapter so far. 
> 
> And in all seriousness, I want to thank you all SO MUCH for reading, supporting, and commenting for this long! You have no idea how happy EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU makes me. Here's a LICK from Terezi as a reward! >:]


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK AFTER AN EXACTLY MONTHLONG HIATUS! Sometimes I really want to fuck myself with a dirty spoon in a non-pleasurable manner. Gog.
> 
> ANYWAY! For those of you still reading/commenting, I LOVE YOU MORE THAN IS LEGALLY ALLOWED, probably. I've mentioned that I will NEVER ABANDON this story because it is my fucking child, but still. Those of you support me have no idea how much you contribute to my continued motivation and inspiration. 
> 
> All right, here goes! Hope y'all enjoy :3
> 
> ALSO. FUCKING Ao3 WON'T LET ME COLOR CODE THE PESTERLOGS. I'LL TRY AGAIN LATER BUT FOR THOSE OF YOU READING NOW, I AM SO SORRY
> 
> Art for this chapter at https://yzydragon2222.deviantart.com/art/hey-liTTle-messiah-740887561
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @a2cidentalonomatopoeia and follow this fic @icanfeelyouacrosstheline ! Please, please, PLEASE, I'm looking for one-shot prompt suggestions! Please liberally feed me with your ideas. :)

Chapter 19

—> BE FEFERI PEIXES

The elevator that descends into the prison is dark and narrow. It is hand-operated by an indigoblood; you suspect that the Empress avoided installing a self-powered elevator here to make it more difficult for potential escapees.

The inside of the elevator is so narrow that your elbow grazes Trizza’s as the two of you stand side-by-side inside it. There is a loud _creaaaaak_ every time the operator cranks the handle, and as you listen to one loud creak after another and another and another, you realize that you are descending dozens of stories into the earth. Just how far underground are the war prisoners kept? For a moment, your pan clouds over in blind panic, and you think you are being delivered to the depths of hell. But then you remember that it’s not hell you’re going to, you’re just going to a prison as a visitor. This notion does not encourage you, though.

Trizza, on the other hand, seems to be suffering none of your discomforts; instead, she treats this journey like a familiar one. It probably is, for her. “Ugh, this place is definitely due for an update,” she complains, fanning herself. “Could you make this thing move a little faster, dude?” she barks at the operator.

“My apologies, highblood, but I’m already doing this as fast as I can,” the indigoblood replies meekly.

Trizza laughs that grating laugh of hers, then points at the indigoblood and, as if he weren’t standing right there, says, “Can you believe these land-dwelling low lives? They got ONE JOB and they can’t even fuckin’ do it right. I’ve got half the mind to cull him right here but nah, that’d be kinda inconvenient on an elevator in the middle of the way to hell.”

Beads of nervous sweat trickle down the indigoblood’s forehead, but he stays silent. You swallow to keep yourself from saying something abrasive. In the past, you wouldn’t have hesitated to exchange a few sharp words with Trizza, to argue against her unkind words and attempt to put her in her place. But back then, nothing was at risk. Now, everything is. Trizza is on very good terms with the Empress, and you know you have to watch what you say from now on. Especially since you’re technically doing something illegal, since you don’t have permission to be here. Even Gamzee warned you to tread carefully, and you can’t help but find it embarrassing that _Gamzee glubbing Makara_ , extraordinaire of unpredictability, had to tell you to be less impulsive.

So you smile and choke out a chuckle. “Heh, yeah...and glubbing messy too. I don’t want my clothes staining indigo.”

Trizza looks at you for a few moments, puzzlement on her face, before a smile slowly breaks out. “My gog,” she says, “the war really has changed you, hasn’t it? It really is good to see you again, my dear, I’d missed your...excitable company.” What a lying sack of shit she is. The two of you were no more than acquaintances and she didn’t miss you at all while you were gone, and you and she both know it. For the sake of fake politeness, though, you return her smile. “I was delighted to hear that you were coming home. Forgive me for not reaching out to you sooner, I’d intended to invite you to my hive for tea next week! I figured I’d leave you alone for a few days, let you get reacquainted with civilized life, you know? Didn’t think I’d see you so soon, though. Must be my lucky day!”

“Oh, don’t worry about it all. And if the offer’s still open I’d love tea next week!” Shit. Why did you say that? The last thing you want is to go to Trizza’s hive for tea. But it’s too late to take it back now. “Gog knows it’s been too long since I had a proper tea party!”

“It’s a platonic date, then! We’ll tea party the _shit_ out of our highblood asses!” She looks genuinely excited for a moment before a look of concern falls upon her features. “That is, if you’re up to it,” she continues. “If you’d prefer something...calmer, I’d understand. I heard you were going through some troubles, you know…” She gestures vaguely to her head, “Up here.”

“What?” you blink. “Oh, please, I’m perfectly fine, thank you. What is it that you heard that happened to me?”

She holds her hands up. “Oh no, I wouldn’t want to be invasive. Or bring up any unwanted memories…”

“I promise it’s fine. Honestly I’d like to know what you’ve heard.”

“The details were sparse,” Trizza supplies after a moment. “All we know is that your captain—Ampora, was it?—was worried about your mental health. Psychological trauma after witnessing lowblood crimes, I think it was.”

You do your best to laugh in response. “Trauma?” you say. “Oh clam, that’s actually hilarious! I’m telling you, that’s a load of carp.”

“But—“

“I’m telling you, it was just Eridan being an overprotective douche. He was my moirail.”

“Eri—oh, you mean Ampora? Your moirail?” Trizza’s eyes widen and she snaps her fingers. “Ahhhhh, suddenly this is making a lot more sense. Love on the battlefield, huh?” she croons.

You huff. “Of course I saw some horrible things in the war—but it’s not like I wasn’t prepared for them. And as a medic I was used to seeing—you know, blood and gore and stuff. Eridan probably happened upon my tent by accident and got so squeamish he decided I’d seen enough. As if it’s not up to me to make that decision for myself!” It’s an abridged version of the truth, but Trizza doesn’t need to know that.

“Are you still moirails with him?”

“No, I was too mad at him when he decided to discharge me. Besides, I don’t think we reely had all that much pale chemistry.”

Trizza laughs and places a placating hand on your shoulder. “Ah, Feferi, my naive friend,” she chuckles, “romance with lowbloods will never be completely satisfying, even if it’s a seadwelling lowblood bitch. You wanna know a secret?” She leans in real close to you and whispers, “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t the highest-blood on the entire hemospectrum. It’s fucking exhausting being better than everybody else all the time!”

You can’t help screwing your face up in distaste at Trizza’s words, but she’s already leaning away and guffawing. “But it’s not often. It’s great being me!” she says at normal volume. “Anyway, don’t worry about bein’ back home, Feferi, let the lowbloods do our dirty work. Besides, I never saw real need for medics. Let the lowbloods and cripples die if they’ve outstayed their usefulness, am I right?”

You wince, more deeply affected by her words than you’d like to let on, but you are saved from having to supply a response when the elevator slows and finally arrives on the prison floor with a loud _clank_. The doors creakily slide open. “Highbloods, we’ve arrived,” the indigoblood says in a small voice.

Trizza strides out of the elevator without so much as a sideways glance at the indigoblood, but you make the point of looking the poor man in the eye and thanking him quietly. He appears speechless that you bothered to deign him with any semblance of a polite gesture, and you don’t wait for him to reply before you hurry out of the elevator after Trizza.

The two of you walk up to a set of tall, padlocked metal doors. You shift on your feet, unsure of what to do, but Trizza raps sharply on the door, three times. The sounds echoes hollowly around the chamber.

It takes about a minute or so, before the padlock is suddenly sliding open from the inside with a loud screech. Slowly, the door creaks open, and a guard pops his head out through the crack to observe the visitors. His eyes land on a Trizza first, and he immediately offers her a sharp-toothed grin. “Welcome, Ms. Tethis. We were expecting you.”

“Hurry the fuck up and let me in. I’ve spent two sweeps without my boy and I don’t want to wait a minute extra.”

“Please remind me of the number he was assigned.”

“Twenty-two.”

“All right, perfect,” the guard says, and then his eyes slide over to you. At first, it seems he is about to snarl something your way, but even in the dim lighting he manages to catch sight of the fuchsia sign on your shirt.

“Ah, highblood. Madam Tethis, is this a...companion?”

“Hrm, no, Trizza is a good friend but I’m here of my own accord,” you answer hastily, just as Trizza turns questioning eyes on you.

“Ah, and you are…?”

“Peixes,” you answer curtly.

“All right, Ms. Peixes, I suppose I can allow you in, on account of your...social standing. Were you looking for any prisoner in particular?”

“Tav--uh, number...eighty-seven,” you say quickly, hoping that your slip-up went unnoticed. You don’t think it’s a wise idea to refer to Tavros by name around here. The highblood guards seem to be stubbornly adamant about referring to prisoners not by name but by number. You suppose it’s a way of dehumanizing them, humiliating them and taking away their identities. You are grateful that, back in Lotam, the subjugglators had mentioned that Tavros was prisoner number eighty-seven. You hope his number hasn’t changed since then.

“Huh, your lucky day,” the guard replies. “I think both your bitches are in the same cell.”

“Oh?” Trizza inquires. “I thought the prisoners were kept in numerical order?”

“Normally, yeah, but blame Chahut for this. She wanted those two together or something. Says the bronzeblood is a special case. Fancies herself some lowblood porn, probably.”

Trizza blinks, and your bloodpusher races, wondering what all this means. “Well, I hope my boy hasn’t been getting dirty with the shitblood,” she says, “I’ll have to increase his punishment if he has.”

“Ha, bulges have remained firmly inside pants, Ms. Tethis,” the guard laughs. “We made sure he stayed clean for you. Maybe it’s pale porn that Chahut likes. Actually I think she might be into religious porn, whatever the fuck that even is. Who knows with that bitch?”

“Haha, well, Chahut’s a purpleblood with some semblance of a pan in that clowny skull of hers. I guess I’ll trust her judgment on whatever she thinks is going on.”

“A decision well made, as expected of you, Ms. Tethis. Come in.”

The door opens a bit wider, just enough for you and Trizza to slip through.

“It’s the twentieth cell on the right down the hall. Would you like to be escorted there?”

“We’d prefer privacy, thanks,” you quickly answer before Trizza can open her mouth. However, she hums in agreement without protest.

“All right. I’ll be in the control room to unlock the doors to that cell for you. But once you’re inside I’m afraid I’ll have to lock the doors behind you. I’ll reopen them when you’re ready to come back out. How much time will you need?”

“Just a few minutes for me. I’m just here to pick up my boy,” Trizza says.

“Um, give me an hour,” you say.

The guard raises his eyebrows. “That’s an awfully long time, Ms. Peixes,” he says slowly. Trizza turns to look at you with interest.

“It’s also none of your business,” you snap.

The prison is a narrow corridor with heavily-barred cells, about ten by ten feet each, on either side. Each cell is occupied by two prisoners, dressed in white-and-black prison garment. While you and Trizza walk through the corridor, the prisoners shy away, folding themselves into the shadows of their cells. The darkness, however, is not enough to hide the eyes that gleam with hatred and fear from the depths of the prison cells. You wish you could call out to these poor lowbloods, assure them that you are a friend, and not an oppressor, but of course you know that such an act would be fatal. You feel useless and you suppose you don’t deserve any less than the spite and loathing of every single one of these try. One or two of the more daring ones call out at you and Trizza—“Sickblood scum!” they scream—but Trizza ignores them, instead turning to you to resume casual conversation. How is it that she is so unaffected by these dreadful surroundings?

“Fefeeeeeri,” she says in a sly voice, and you involuntarily shiver. “I didn’t know you were into...you know... _that_ kind of thing.”

“What!” you exclaim, cheeks flushing. “No, no, it’s not—it’s not what you think!”

“Hmm, really?” she says. “One hour of privacy with a shitblood, huh? Who even is he, anyway? Or she? I meant to ask who you were looking for down here, anyway.”

“It’s a he,” you say. “And...okay, fine. I’ll tell you. Eridan sent me here as a favor,” you lie through your teeth.

“Wha? Your ex-moirail?”

“We’re still...friends,” you say, again lying. “And did you hear about that lowblood prisoner-of-war we kept in the camp for a couple of weeks?”

“Of course I did! Isn’t he supposed to go to trial soon? I heard that piece of shit was hella powerful, some demented animal-whisperer or something.”

“Um...yeah,” you reply, having difficulty reconciling the image of a ‘demented animal-whisperer’ with shy, sweet Tavros. “So, him. That’s the prisoner I’m looking for.”

“Oh snap!”

“Yeah. And Eridan asked me to come, um, remind the shitblood of his crimes, and make him...uh, as miserable as possible. It’s kinda embarrassing, but I gotta try.”

“Aw man, Feferi, I didn’t know you had it in you. The war really has changed you for the better!” Wow, Trizza is just drinking in all of your lies. You hope that she isn’t faking it, that she really does believe you. “Feferi, I’m proud of you!”

But by now you are unable to respond, because your body has frozen and your throat clogged up with emotion. You are standing in front of yet another cell, but the warm brown eyes that are staring at you from within, flanked by two ridiculously large horns, are all too familiar.

No words are exchanged, but you see the chocolate eyes widen when they meet yours, and then you see them fill with tears.

Trizza opens the cell door and walks in with purpose, and you break your gaze away from Tavros and hurry in after her.

She stops in the middle of the cell. You follow her gaze and notice for the first time the other prisoner in the cell. The burgundyblood’s eyes are fixed on Trizza’s, blown wide open and shining with pure terror and dread. Then you look at Trizza, and notice that her entire demeanor has changed. Where she had been enthusiastic before--flamboyant, even--she now exudes an aura of coldness, quiet fury, and power. You shiver. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that beneath Trizza’s loud, callous exterior is a very dangerous troll.

“Xefros,” Trizza says in a low voice. “Stop touching the shitblood. _Now_.”

The rustblood--Xefros?--quickly glances at Tavros and you realize for the first time that his and Tavros’s hands had been tightly joined. It doesn’t look like the romantic kind of hand-holding--rather, a bond of friendship, a mutual reassurance in a dire situation. But at Trizza’s command Xefros quickly pries his hand away from Tavros’s and you feel like sobbing. It takes all of your willpower to keep your face stoic.

“Sorry Mistress,” Xefros squeaks quickly.

“Don’t be sorry, Xefros, Mistress knows you’re prone to fucking up. I know you must feel terrible inside, knowing that you’ve disappointed me. The remorse must be killing you on the inside.”

The rustblood doesn’t answer, his teary, watery eyes darting between Trizza’s and the floor.

  
“Come on, now, don’t give me that sad, sad look. Mistress hates it when her favorite boy is sad. Come here.” She holds her arms out. “I haven’t seen you for two whole sweeps, Xefros, and I missed you! Do you know that you broke my heart when you left? When you betrayed the Empire and left to go fight the silly war? When you betrayed me, after everything that I’d done for you?” Her voice is still soft, but the underlying anger is all too evident.

Xefros fidgets, pressing himself against the wall as if he wanted to disappear into it.

“Xefros,” Trizza repeats, “I said, COME HERE!”

The poor burgundyblood jumps about a foot into the air at Trizza’s sudden outburst, then clumsily scrambles to his feet. “S-sorry, Mistress--”

“Did I say you could walk, Xefros? ON YOUR HANDS AND KNEES, GET CRAWLING!”

Tears leak from the Xefros’s eyes and he hastily wipes them away before dropping back down to his knees and crawling to Trizza’s feet.

“Xeeeeefros,” Trizza croons, patting the rustblood’s head and combing her fingers through his hair, her voice soft and cool and once again. “I’ll have to punish you, you know. You know Mistress loves you, right? That’s why I have to punish you. It’s for your own good.”

“Y-yes...Mistress,” Xefros breathes shakily. You feel a shiver run up your spine.

“Feferi,” Trizza suddenly addresses you, and you quickly smooth your expression. You hope Trizza didn’t notice the look of horror upon your face just moments ago. “This is my boy Xefros. He’s a bit on the stupid side but he tries to be a good boy. Unfortunately, one of my other slaves was a bad, bad influence on the poor boy and they ran away to join the rebellion two sweeps ago. I’m endlessly grateful to the ones who managed to find him again. Say hello to Mistress Feferi, Xefros.”

“H-hello, ma’am,” the rustblood says, not daring to even meet your eyes.

You want to rush forward and gather the poor thing in your arms and take him far, far away from Trizza. Instead, you nod at him briskly, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Speaking of which, Xefros,” Trizza continues, turning back to her slave. “How is dear Dammek? Missing me, I’m sure?”

Xefros trembles but doesn’t speak, staring resolutely at his knees from where he’s kneeling on the ground.

The silence stretches on for several extremely uncomfortable moments. “Well?” Trizza asks, more sharply this time.

You can see Xefros chewing his lip, and Trizza looks like she’s about to say something again when a soft, squeaky voice speaks up from the corner of the cell. All heads, including your own, turn to look at Tavros. “Um, if I, may, Miss….uh, ma’am, I happen to know Dammek and he is, doing very well, and it is not, at all evident, that he ever, uh, belonged to you, because he is very strong and brave, and an honorable, troll, unlike his...um, former mistress. I actually had never even, uh, heard, of you.”

Xefros’s eyes are shining with gratefulness and you realize that Tavros only spoke up to save Xefros from having to answer Trizza, even though Tavros himself is obviously terrified of her.

Trizza, on the other hand, looks furious and her fins flare threateningly for a moment. You watch her clench and unclench her fists as she stares at Tavros. Tavros still looks terrified, but to his credit, he continues to stare Trizza down, and you silently cheer at his bravery.

But Trizza’s fins relax as she reigns herself in. “And you must be the infamous animal-whisperer who gave us so much trouble! No wonder Xefros likes you, being the brute that he is. Tell me, compared to a hoofbeast, who is smarter, the beast or my boy?”

Tavros squirms uncomfortably from where he’s seated against the wall. “Uh…”

“I’d give you a piece of my mind but I suppose I shouldn’t steal Feferi’s thunder this time. You recognize Miss Feferi, don’t you, shitblood? Did you know that Miss Feferi came all the way here just for you? She doesn’t do this often. You should be grateful that she took all this time for you!”

Tavros bites his lips and his eyes dart to yours once again. His gaze lingers a little too long as he slowly replies, “I’m, uh, aware, that singularly fortunate, is something that, uh, I am.”

“Oh sheesh, you didn’t tell me he was an overly polite one, Feferi,” Trizza says, rolling her eyes. “Also, what the actual fuck with his pants? And why is he covered in blood?”

Trizza says it so casually that you almost don’t register the severity of her words, but then your head snaps towards Tavros again and you notice that his pants and some of his shirt are spattered in bronze blood.

“Aw, shit, he got it on Xefros too,” Trizza whines dramatically. You can’t pay attention to her right now, though, because you are absorbed with worry about the source of all of Tavros’s blood.

But, while Trizza’s head is turned, Tavros shakes his head and mouths _I’M OKAY_ at you.

“C’mon, boy, let’s go home and get you clean,” Trizza says to her slave. “You look terrible and you smell like shit. Feferi, it was a delight seeing you today, but I really hafta get going. I’ll troll you sometime this week. Or maybe I’ll see you at the trials?”

“What?” you say, dazed and tense. You turn back to Trizza and find her looking at you expectantly. “Oh, um, the trials--yes, I’ll be there. Yes. Of course I will. See you then.”

“You okay, girl? You seem a little...flustered.”  
  
You open your mouth to reply that you’re doing just fine, but the words catch in your throat when you catch the panicked look in the eyes of the rustblood who’s still kneeling at Trizza’s feet. You don’t think you could live with yourself if you simply allowed the slave to be taken away by Trizza without at least trying to do something. “Um...Trizza? Can I be honest with you?”

“Oh? Well, of course, Feferi, you can tell me anything.”

“Well, it’s just, I…” You grope around your thinkpan, struggling for a decent way to say this. Finally, you throw caution to the wind and the words tumble out of your mouth. “I really like him. Your slave, I mean.”

Trizza looks genuinely surprised. “Xefros?”

“Yeah, and you know, I was actually considering...purchasing a few for myself and I was wondering how much...Xefros would cost if I wanted to buy him from you.”

“Are you fuckin’ serious?” Trizza exclaims. Your throat closes up in panic—did you say something out of line? Honestly, you know nothing about the etiquette of how to address other highbloods’ slaves. Were you being inappropriate? Did you inadvertently insult Trizza? Not that you don’t want to insult her, but you should really be staying in her good books—

“Who are you and what did you do with the Feferi I knew?” Trizza continues, laughing. “Oh shit, Feferi wants slaves too?”

“Am I not allowed?” you snap, slightly peeved.

“No no, it’s not that, but…” Trizza wheezes, “what happened to doin’ ‘your own glubbing chores’?”

“The war enlightened me, okay?” you argue defensively. “I saw a lot of lowbloods and—all right, you were right all along, they would’ve been so much better off serving us instead of fighting some war. Besides, I’m technically a veteran now and I want to relax and do other important things and not worry about doing the glubbing laundry! Glub, I hated doing laundry out there!” The latter, at the very least, is true. It was hell doing laundry in the middle of the wilderness.

Trizza holds her hands up placatingly. “Hey, hey, I totally get it, girl. I’m just impressed how much the war managed to change you for the better. Damn, if we’d known this sooner we’d a sent all the deviant highbloods to the army, get ‘em miraculously straightened out the way you were, am I right?”

You’re too relieved to be offended by the fact that Trizza thought you were a “deviant highblood”. “So...what do you say? About...you know.” You gesture lamely at Xefros. His glistening eyes are now trained on you, dilated with fear. You realize that, considering the way you’re talking right now, the poor rustblood has no way of knowing whether or not you’d be a better mistress than Trizza.

Trizza’s expression morphs into a contemplative one. “Hmm...this is difficult. On one hand, I’m intrigued by your offer. On the other hand...Xefros is very expensive.”

“I’m...wealthy,” you offer weakly.

“That you are, Feferi, but don’t forget, so am I. I sure as hell don’t need any of your boondollars. Besides, Xefros’s worth goes beyond that of a couple bucks. Call me sentimental, but I tend to get emotionally invested in my property, and I haven’t seen this one in two whole sweeps, ya know? It’ll take a lot to get me to separate from him again.”

You force yourself to remain calm and firm. “Won’t you consider it, at least? Slave-owning is a new and exciting prospect for me, anywave, and I’m willing to invest however much is needed.”

“Oh don’t worry, I will consider it,” Trizza says, briefly glancing down at Xefros. “Ya know, Feferi, if you were anyone else I’d be pretty fucking offended by such a blatant proposition, but...golly, I thought I’d be culled before I saw you take a slave for your own. Xefros would be an easy slave for starters, I think—and hell if I don’t want to be part of Ms. Feferi Peixes’s new ventures!” Trizza reaches over and slaps you on the back heartily, and you give a sheepish smile. “We gotta talk more about this. A lot more about this. I’ve got a lot of pointers for to-dos and not-to-dos for new mistresses. Take it from an old professional like me.”

“Thanks, Trizza,” you say, forcing earnesty into your voice. “I was kind of...embarrassed about all this but I’m glad you’re being so supportive.”

“You betcha, girl!” she whoops. “No need to get all shy on me. Alright, I really do hafta get going. I left the rest of my bitches unattended back at the hive. But fuck, I am glad I got to see you today, Little Miss Veteran. And I hope I’ll be seein’ a lot more of you around.” She gives you a little wink.

“Heh, heh..sure,” you chuckle nervously. “Tea next week...it’s a platonic date, right?”

“You bet it is.” She waves. “All right, I’m outta here. Have fun, shitblood,” she smirks maliciously at Tavros, who is still staring at you, wide-eyed. “C’mon, let’s go home, boy,” Trizza says, kicking her slave as she exits the cell, making the rustblood yelp. Xefros’s head turns back for a fraction of a second and he shares a brief, meaningful look with Tavros that you don’t have enough time to try to interpret. Then he’s scrambling away, half-crawling, half-running—his mistress still hadn’t given him permission to walk like a normal troll, but he also has to make sure he keeps up with her.

And just like that, Trizza and Xefros disappear through the corridor, leaving a suddenly loud silence in the cell. Slowly, you turn to the bronzeblood seated against the wall, and for several moments your pan goes blank as you stare at him and he stares back at you. Then you hear something of a choked sob, and it takes you a second to realize that you were the one who produced said sound, and your vision goes blurry with tears as your feet scramble forward almost of their own accord. He covers his mouth with his hand and chokes out, “Oh my god,” bronze tears leaking out of his eyes in a similar fashion, just as you skid to a stop and fall to your knees right in front of him. You twist your face in determination, resolved not to break down crying like you so very much feel like doing right now. No, get a glubbing grip, Feferi, you need to be strong for him. You grab him by the shoulders and he lets out a surprised eep. Then you’re crushing his warm, warm body against yours, holding him in an embrace that you never want to release.

“I found you,” you breathe into his hair.

—> BE TAVROS NITRAM

Feferi surprises you with the strength of her embrace, but before you can stop yourself you are clutching her just as tightly, hugging as if you weren’t a shitblood prisoner and she wasn’t a noble seadweller. Her fins tickle the side of your face, and if it were any other seadweller you’d be horrified if you were in close enough proximity to see even the outline of their fins, much less be in actual skin-to-skin contact with them. But it’s not just any other seadweller, it’s Feferi—and that makes all the difference in the world.

You don’t know how long the two of you sit there, clinging desperately to one another, but eventually you pull apart and immediately you lament the loss of her comforting, cool body. Feferi’s body temperature, like Gamzee’s, is much lower than yours, but the two highbloods feel so different. Gamzee was like a cold fire that blazed through your soul, Feferi a soothing, crystal stream at the eve of spring.

She cups your face with her hands and looks at you intently with her fuchsia eyes. There are million things you want to tell her, but at this moment, you have no idea what to say.

She seems to be having the same problem. After several stretched out moments, she looks at your hair and smiles sadly. “Your mohawk, it’s growing out,” she sighs. The topic of your hairstyle seems to be simultaneously wildly inappropriate and perfect for the situation. “Didn’t Terezi help you cut it back then?”

“Uh, yeah…”

“Well, next time it’ll be up to me,” she says firmly, and you can’t help but laugh, a little fondly and a little bitterly.

“Uh, my mohawk, is something that doesn’t really matter anymore, but I would still appreciate that, all the same, if there is a next time...uh, my hair is one of the few things I actually like, about me.”

She frowns slightly. “Your hair is one of the many things I like about you.”

“What’s there to like?” you sigh, looking at your legs.

She follows your line of sight and shakes her head vigorously. “Tavros, don’t be like this,” she implores, removing her hand from your face to squeeze your thigh—what’s the point? It only serves to remind you of its uselessness. “Especially about your legs, it wasn’t your—fault, oh cod!”

She lifts her hand off of your leg and splays her fingers, now coated in the warm, sticky blood that had soaked through your pants from your knee injury. She looks between you and her bloody hand in dismay. Then, before you can protest, she hooks her thumbs into your waistband and pulls the pants down your legs—they slide off easily since they were Gamzee’s and were too big for you in the first place. In any other situation, and with any other troll, you’d be embarrassed out of your pan, but it’s Feferi and you watch with some strange sense of detachment as she inspects your legs for more injuries.

You haven’t looked at yourself in a while and it’s a bit disconcerting to see that your two unfeeling appendages are actually littered with bruises and scrapes, although it shouldn’t be so much of a surprise considering the fact that you’ve been dragged and tossed around these few days. But of course, those are negligible injuries in comparison with your knee, in which the bullet left a gaping hole that oozes bronze—along with several bone fragments that you can see sticking out of the joint.

“Oh, cod! What did they do to you!” Feferi cries out in dismay. She wipes her hand on her own shirt, staining it with your bronze, and begins rifling through her handbag.

“You ruined your clothes,” you say.

“Cod dammit, I didn’t bring the proper surgical tools—I didn’t think it would be this bad—“

“Uh-huh,” you answer noncommittally.

“Who did this? I don’t have the means to take the bullet out. Glub! Ugh, normally it would be a bad idea to keep the bullet in the kneecap because it would reduce the chances of your ability to walk normally in the future but I don’t really have a choice here…”

“Well, I guess I’m lucky I’m already crippled,” you say. “Or that she, didn’t decide to shoot me in the, uh, elbows instead, or something.”

“She?” A look of understanding crosses Feferi’s face. “ _That subjugglator beach_ ,” she all but snarls, sounding furious in a way you hadn’t thought possible for the gentle seadweller.

Feferi rifles through her bag some more and finally pulls out a bottle of antiseptic, thread, a needle, and bandages. “I’m going to disinfect it and stitch you up—are you hurt anywhere else?”

You subtly use your hand to cover your forearm, hiding the branded number from Feferi’s view. You don’t want to know how she’d react to that. “No,” you croak hoarsely.

She lifts your leg up and checks the paralyzed limb for more wounds, and it chooses that moment to seize up and start spasming, shaking loosely in Feferi’s grasp. “Oh no, the spasms have started too?” Feferi moans. “Okay. Okay.” She tries to calm herself down. “I have some sopor for that.” She takes a green syringe out of her bag. “Tavros, could you sit up for me please?”

But you’re barely paying attention to her anymore, because the sight of the sopor-filled syringe brings back a shock of memories, of the last time you saw Gamzee, when he was knocked out with a similar shot of sopor by a pair of purpleblooded twins…

Feferi sees the unhappy look on your face and comprehension dawns her. “Oh,” she says apologetically, “I’m sorry, Tavros, but I swear this won’t hurt you! I only need to use a little bit, and it’s just to clam down the nerves in your spinal cord so your legs stop spasming so much.”

Despite Feferi’s assurances, though, you find yourself completely unwilling to move. You dejectedly look away from the seadweller.

“Tavros…?” Feferi probes gently.

“Stop,” you say before you can stop yourself. “Just stop, I don’t want to do this anymore.” You push Feferi’s hovering hands away.

“What—“

“This is, completely pointless, and unimportant, and I don’t want to go through this anymore. All this, stitching and bandaging and taking medicine for wounds that are probably, uh, superficial—“

“Superfishial?” Feferi squawks. “Tavros this isn’t superfishial! The first few weeks of recovery after a spinal cord injury are the most important! And if I don’t do somefin about this—“ she gestures at your knee—“it might get infected and your whole leg might have to be removed and, and, down the road, you might die!”

You huff. “My leg is useless, anyway, and much closer, down the metaphorical road, I’m going to trial.”

“Exactly, and that’s why we need to get you in as good health as possible! You need to look and feel your best at the trial.”

Deep inside, you know that Feferi only means this in the best possible way, but you are already so frazzled and dismayed and scared and frankly, SO DONE with everything that’s happened to you lately, that you just...unravel. At Feferi.

“But why, though? They keep saying that, the only reason they didn’t cut my horns off, or do something on an equally horrific scale, is so that I look recognizable at the trial, or something. So is the intention, to make me, no longer recognizable, in a manner probably involving a lot of blood, and torture, when the trial is finished?”

“That’s not why I—“

“I thought you were different from the other highbloods, Feferi,” you continue, and Feferi recoils with a wounded expression. Immediately, you regret telling her such a hurtful thing that you know not to be true—but now that you’ve started ranting you’re finding that you can’t stop. Is this what Karkat always feels like? “All of you just, treat me, like some kind of worthless object—I mean, you don’t treat me, like I’m worthless, but uh, sometimes I really have to wonder, if I’m just an object to you. Like, like a doll or something, and you’re just prepping me and making me look pretty, and the trial is just some kind of, uh, exhibition. Because a doll can’t do anything other than, uh, lie there, and not walk and be generally, uh, useless, and if they get damaged their owner can just, patch them up, and when I get thrown away you might cry a little but then you can get, a new doll, or something. Oh. Oh my gog, that’s—that’s why you were interested in Xefros—“

Feferi gives a horrified little gasp at your words, and you want to slap yourself for being so cruel to her but you don’t know how to rein yourself in anymore. “If you really cared about me, you wouldn’t be here, trying to give me sopor, and all that, you would be merciful and just, cull me now so I don’t have to be injured, and paraplegic, and be my generally pathetic and wounded self, any longer—“

_SMACK_

Your ears ring loudly, not from pain, but shock at what just happened. Because Feferi Peixes, your affectionate, doting nurse, just slapped you. Not hard enough to do much more than cause your cheek to smart a little bit, but certainly enough to stop the wretched flow of words slipping from your tongue, enough to pull you out of the sad, desperate hole you were talking yourself into.

You simply sit there, too stunned to do anything, for a few moments, and when you finally pull yourself out of your slap-induced stupor and turn back to Feferi, you find the seadweller’s eyes overflowing with tears.

“You have no right,” Feferi sniffs, “no, right, to decide how I should treat the people I pity.”

Some invisible force clenches your bloodpusher at her words, and your eyes widen more than you thought possible. “You—“

“Of course I care about you, Tavros, but not because you’re a doll or an object. You’re a glubbing troll and I care about you because you’re my glubbing friend. How do you think I feel when people treat me like a princess and treat you like dirt even though you’re better than I could ever hope to be? _I want to grab the glubbers who did this to you by the fins and tear their throats out with my bare hands_ ,” she snarls, and you gulp. “But I won’t because I know that would make things worse and Gamzee specifically warned me that I had to be careful.”

“You’ve...you’ve talked to Gamzee?” you whisper. “Is he okay?”

Feferi’s eyes soften. “He’s fine. We’ve been in touch over Trollian, it’s the chat client the High Side uses—“

“I know what Trollian is,” you interrupt.

“Oh.” Feferi looks surprised for a few seconds, then collects herself again. “Whale, yeah. We’ve been in touch. In fact, he’s on his way here from Lotam at this very moment.” She takes her palmhusk out and taps the screen a few times, then turns it around to show you a pesterlog from yesterday.

cuttlefishCuller [CC] began trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]

CC: Gamzee?  
CC: W)(ats going on over t)(ere?  
CC: GAMZ-E-E!  
CC: GAMZ-E-E, AN UPDAT-E PL-EAS-E!  
CC: )(ello?

terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling cuttlefishCuller [CC]

TC: WhOoOoOoOoOa.  
TC: It’S mY mOtHeRfUcKiN bItChTiTs AqUaTiC lItTlE sIsTeR.  
TC: WoMaN gOtTa MoThErFuCkIn ChIlL dOwN, cAuSe ChIlLiN iS tHe MoThErFuCkIn PrElUdE tO mIrAcLeS.  
TC: AnD wE aRe AlL uP iN tHe MoThErFuCkIn NeEdIn Of MaKiN mIrAcLeS gEt ThEiR hApPeNiN oN.

CC: W)(ere are you?  
CC: Did you make it on board the s)(ipment?

TC: YeAh, ThIs MoThErFuCkEr GoT hIs BaD sElF uP iN tHiS hErE tRaVeL cRaFt.  
TC: AnD iN a LiTtLe BiT oF nO tImE tHiS mOtHeRfUcKeR wIlL bE bAcK iN tHe WiCkEd CiTy, GeTtIn HiS lOok On FoR fIsHsIs’S LoVeLy SeLf AnD My MaIn MoThErFuCkEr TaVrOs.  
TC: AiN’t ThAt JuSt A MoThErFuCkIn MiRaClE hOnK hOnK hOnK hOnK

CC: Um  
CC: So w)(at did you do? It actually worked? Without a )(itch? )(ow did you manage to explain yourself and all t)(at?  
CC: And are you just feeling particularly ent)(usiastic or s)(ould i be worried?

TC: NaH, sIs AiN’t GoTtA gEt HeR wOrRy On. ThIs MoThErFuCkEr’S aLl Up AnD bItChTiTs.  
TC: just ain’t used to the motherfuckin way i gotta be gettin my motherfuckin operation down with this shit.  
TC: ACTIN ALL CALM LIKE MY MOTHERFUCKIN NERVES AIN’T FRAYED TO THE SHIT.  
TC: and kuprum and his little female friend  
TC: AND THE MOTHERFUCKIN MUTATED TWINS  
TC: all thinkin loud as motherfuck and jumpin on my motherfuckin bloodpumpin veins.  
TC: AND A MOTHERFUCKER’S REALLY GOT HIS WISHIN ON THAT HE DIDN’T HAVE NO OBLIGATION NOT TO CULL THESE MOTHERFUCKERS.

CC: Gamzee we already establis)(ed t)(at t)(ere is to be no krilling for now remember?

TC: heh heh.  
TC: MOTHERFUCKIN YEAH.

CC: W)(at t)(e glub is t)(at supposed to mean?  
CC: Gamzee?

TC: AwWwWwW  
TC: ShIt AlL’s NoThIn SiS. dOn’T gEt YoUr MoThErFuCkIn WoRrY oN.  
TC: HaVe YoU gOtTeN yOuR fInD oN fOr TaV yEt?

CC: No  
CC: )(e doesnt arrive )(ere till tomorrow remember?  
CC: You told me yourself!

TC: Oh.  
TC: FoRgIvE a MoThErFuCkEr WhO’s Up AnD gOt ThE cLoCk AlL cOnFuSeD.  
TC: EvErY MoThErFuCkIn SeCoNd FeElS lIkE eTeRnIty DoWn In ThIs HeRe HeLl.

CC: Its okay i guess.  
CC: I kinda understand )(ow you feel.  
CC: But if it makes you feel any better, t)(e very first thing im gonna do tomorrow night is go fis)(ing for )(im!

TC: SiStEr So MoThErFuCkIn WiCkEd I cOuLd SlUrP yOu DoWn LiKe ThE wIcKeDeSt Of ThEm SlImE pIeS. :o)

CC: Um, i’m going to assume t)(at t)(at was a compliment!

TC: AnYwAy  
TC: WhEn YoU gOt YoUr FiNdIn AlL oN fOr HiM  
TC: TeLl HiM gAmZeE tHe ClOwN sAyS hI.

CC: W)(at?  
CC: You want me to tell )(im )(I for you? LAM————E!  
CC: O)( come on purple boy you can do better t)(an t)(at!

TC: Oh  
TC: WeLl  
TC: ThEn YoU cAn MoThErFuCkIn SaY tO tHaT bRoThEr ThAt ThIs MoThErFuCkEr Is AlL uP aNd ComIn FoR hIm LiKe A mOtHeRfUcKiN mEtEoR gEtS iTs HuRtLiNg On FoR tHe MoOnS.  
TC: AnD oUr BiTcHtItS rEuNiOn WiLl Be ThE mOsT mIrThFuL oF eXpLoSiOnS.  
TC: AcTuAlLy ThErE’lL bE mOrE’n OnE mEtEoR, iT’lL bE a MoThErFuCkIn ShOwEr Of MoThErFuCkIn MiRaClEs.  
TC: OuR hApPy EnDiNg’S GoTtA hAvE tHeM mIrAcLeS iN tHe DoZeNs To MoThErFuCkIn MaKe Up FoR tHe UnFuNnY sHiT bEeN tHroWn DoWn At OuR sElVeS.  
TC: …  
TC: ThAt MoThErFuCkIn BeTtEr FiShSiS?

CC: 38)  
CC: Yea)(, but it was kinda…—EXC—ESSIV—E, wouldn’t you say?

TC: UuUuH  
TC: WhAt ThE fUcK aM i SuPpOsEd To UnExCeSsIvElY SaY tO a MiRaCuLoUs BrOtHeR lIkE hIm?

CC: I don’t know, but i’m s)(ore somefin simple and sweet would make tavros very )(appy.

TC: UuUuUuUh  
TC: DaMn. SiMpLe AnD sWeEt AiN’t NeItHeR tHiS mOtHeRfUcKeR’s BiTcHiN fOrTeS.

CC: I know you can do it, you can do anyfin for )(im, rig)(t? 38)

TC: BrOtHeR uP aNd DeSeRvEs MoRe’N wHaT tHiS mOtHeRfUcKiN cLoWn CaN lAy UpOn HiS fInE sElF tHoUgH. hOnK. :o(  
TC: TeLl HiM tHaT  
TC: ...I dOn’T uP aNd kNoW iF hE cAn FeEl It FrOm MoThErFuCkIn HeRe BuT mY pItY fOr HiM’s BlAzIn So GoGdAmN hArD i’S nOt SuRpRiSeD iF lOwBlOoD wIgGlERs ArE dYiN fRoM iT.  
TC: aNd ThAt I’m AlL uP aNd GeTtIn ThIs MoThErFuCkIn JeAlOuSy On FoR mY fEfSiS fOr GeTtIn ThE oPpOrRuNiTy To Be So ClOsE tO hIs SeLf.  
TC: AnD mEsSiAhS bE mIrThFuLlY dAmNeD, mOtHeRfUcKeR dOn’T kNoW wHaT kInDa WiCkEd PoWeRs My LoWbLoOd BrOtHeR gOt ThAt MaKe My LoOkStUbS wAnNa BlEeD eVeRy TiMe ThEy OpEn AnD rEaLiZe ThEy WoN’t Be GeTtIn ThEiR lOoK oN aT hIm.  
TC: SeEiN tAv FiRsT tHiNg In ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN eVeNiNg WaS JuSt A rEaL mOtHeRfUcKiN mIrAcLe.  
TC: EvEn ThOuGh I cHuCkLeVoOdOoEd ThE fUcK oUtTa HiS pAn BaCk In ThOsE dAyS.  
TC: …  
TC: AaAaAhH mOtHeRfUcKiN sHiT.  
TC: My PaN dOnE lOsT cOnCeNtRaTiOn AnD gOnE aLl TaNgEnT-wIsE a-RaMbLiN.  
TC: lAiD dOwN sOmE hEaVy ShIt On YoUr MoThErFuCkIn FiNs, FiShSiS.

CC: No t)(at was actually quite touc)(ing

TC: MoThErFuCk I gOtTa Go BeFoRe ThE sOlEiLs GeT tHeIr CuRiOsItY oN fOr ThE sIsTeR i’M tRoLlIn.

terminallyCapricious [TC] ceased trolling cuttlefishCuller [CC]

CC: O)(...  
CC: 38(  
CC: I’m praying t)(at everyfin goes all rig)(t.

cuttlefishCuller [CC] ceased trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]

Your mind reels from the conversation you just read. You can’t help the soft smile that teases your lips as you observe the conversational antics between your two favorite highbloods.

“I couldn’t help poking a little fun at him,” Feferi mumbles, blushing. “I had a feeling...you’d need a reminder how much he cares about you.”

“Is he okay?” you croak out again. The end of his and Feferi’s conversation seemed a bit...abrupt, and worrying.

“He’s…whale, missing you, obviously. I haven’t talked to him since this last conversation. He’s probably got his hands full right now…”

“What? Why?”

Feferi sighs. “Apparently the Empress ordered him not to come back to the Capitol, but he’s coming back anywave.” She catches your expression and quickly adds, “Tavros, don’t worry about it. Gamzee’s being very careful and you have bigger fish to fry.”

“If the Empress ordered him not to, come back, uh...why is he…”

“He wants to intercept your trial,” Feferi supplies. “If he can lay claim on you as a quadrant then maybe the verdict can be overturned. Whatever the verdict would’ve been, anywave.”

You feel your blood run cold. “He wants to _what_?”

“I know, I’m not fond of this whole scheme either. But it just might work, because the Empress takes quadrants seriously and Gamzee is a reelly high-profile subjugglator, even though he’s only a purpleblood. I would’ve tried the same thing, but chances are my pleas would be ignored because of my discharge status from the army and I’m not as whale-known as Gamzee, even though I’m a seadweller.”

You claw at your hair with your hands. “That’s, uh, a terrible idea, there are too many risks and, uh, disobeying the Empress is an infraction, of the extremely serious kind…”

“I know, but this is the only thing we could think of. In fact it was your friend Karkat who kelped hIm come up with the plan, I think.”

“What? Karkat?” you gasp.

Feferi smiles. “Yeah. Somehow Gamzee managed to talk to your lowblood friends. Gamzee seems to like this Karkat.”

On any other occasion, you would be elated by the news that Gamzee is getting along with at least one of your Low Side friends. But at the moment, your bloodpusher has been invaded by fear—fear, for the first time since arriving in the Capitol, not for yourself, but for Gamzee. It’s easier for you to accept your own terrible fate than it is to know that Gamzee is risking terrible punishment for your sake.

“I’m not worth it,” you protest. “He shouldn’t come back, he can’t—I don’t want him to—“

“You _are_ worth it, Tavros, and even if you weren’t, Gamzee’s already on his way back. He should be arriving in two days. And I don’t think there is anyfin anyone could to change Gamzee’s mind, and honestly I’ve never seen him so...determined about anyfin.”

A heavy frown settles on your face. Part of you is upset at Karkat for coming with a plan that would put Gamzee in danger, but most of you is filled with a deep self-loathing due to the fact that your friends are having to sacrifice so much to save your pathetic crippled ass. You don’t understand why any of them think you’re worth it. You’re just Tavros Nitram, Alternia’s lowblood master of being a complete weakling, unable to hate and unable to kill, unable to contribute anything to anyone.

Besides, it all just seems utterly ridiculous. Because how could the Empress possibly believe that anyone, let alone a powerful subjugglator like Gamzee, would _want_ to fill any kind of quadrant with _you_?

Then again, however, it seems to be the popular opinion, among your friends, that you should tell the court that you’re quadranted to a highblood. When Xefros brought it up, you dismissed the notion as absolutely ridiculous, but now that Feferi, Gamzee, and Karkat are on board the idea (albeit under different motivations), you are beginning to have second thoughts. You have no idea in the world telling this lie would be remotely helpful in your case--perhaps lowbloods who are tethered to important highblood masters get more attention in court. You don’t know. But your friends know better, and you consider your friends smarter than you, and you trust them more than you trust yourself...

And then something else occurs to you. You find it difficult to believe that anyone, much less a highblood, would want to be in a quadrant with crippled, cowardly, unconfident you. But the Empress doesn’t know that you are cowardly and unconfident. It’ll be impossible to hide your crippled legs, but...you suppose the highbloods can’t take away what’s inside you. Or what’s not inside, you guess, like confidence. So they wouldn’t know if you summoned some fake confidence, because they wouldn’t know that it was fake.

The highbloods put on these war trials for show, you know that. So maybe your duty to your friends, to Gamzee, Karkat, Feferi, and Xefros, and to the Low Side, is to put on a show of your own. Don’t show the court Tavros Nitram, who is a crybaby and whose appearance would probably utterly ruin the Low Side morale. You think it’s time for you to summon an old friend to appear in court in place of you...Rufio.

And would it be legitimate if Rufio were a highblood’s quadrant? Sure. Rufio can do anything (mostly because he’s not real). But still, you don’t want that highblood to be Gamzee. He’s already gotten himself into enough trouble as is. Feferi, clearly, is out of question as well—even if she hadn’t lost credibility among the High Side because of her discharge, you don’t want to involve her in your case, either, lest she get in trouble for it as well. There must be some other highblood with whom you can claim a fake romantic relationship...someone who has some strings attached to you, but isn’t as dear to you as Gamzee and Feferi, and who would potentially be punished more lightly for being involved with you…

Your frown remains on your face while you lose yourself in thought. Feferi sees your frown and gently touches your forehead with her cold fingers, smoothing out your brow. You let out a sigh at her touch.

“Don’t give up hope now,” she whispers urgently. “I know everyfin seems crazy and impossible and reelly reelly crazy but...cod dammit, for once I’m putting in faith in Gamzee’s stupid clown miracles because we are not ready to let you go, got it, Mister? I reelly believe a miracle could happen. Glub, listen to me, talking like some crazy subjugglator.” She laughs lightly. “But you have to do your part and not give up hope, if not for me then for Gamzee. And glubbing dammit, that means letting me take care of your injuries even if it seems pointless, okay?”

You open your mouth to agree, but the words stick in your throat, so you nod, teary-eyed.

“And um…” Feferi says sheepishly. “I’m sorry I slapped you! Just...don’t tell Gamzee I did that...he’d probably krill me.”

For some reason, this strikes you as funny, and you feel laughter bubbling inside your chest. You look at Feferi and open your mouth to let out a chuckle—

What comes out instead is a strangled sob, and suddenly Feferi’s image blurs into a watery brown mess as tears escape your eyes at last.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” you cry, rivers of brown cascading down your face like waterfalls. It’s like all of your the trauma and emotions from the past few days have accumulated and come crashing down all at once. Everything starts bombarding your thinkpan: losing Gamzee, losing Feferi, meeting Xefros, Chahut’s assault, seeing Feferi again, Feferi trying to save Xefros, losing Xefros to his horrible mistress, the upcoming trial...

Feferi gently wraps her arms around your shoulders and presses your sniveling face against her chest. “Shhhhh, it’s okay.”

“You’re nothing like the other highbloods,” you continue. “You’re one of the, nicest trolls, I’ve ever met, and I’m sorry, if I hurt your feelings, by, uh, saying such a thing.”

You continue to cry as and furrow yourself deeper into Feferi’s comforting embrace as she makes soft shooshing noises at you while rubs her hand hand up and down your back, from between your shoulders all the way down to the area where your paralysis begins and you can’t feel her anymore. Somehow, it all feels bittersweet.

And then you say something that confuses even yourself. “I want to go home,” you choke out in a pathetic voice. Immediately, you wonder what you even meant. You want to go home? Where, even, is home for you? You were born and raised in the Capitol outskirts, but living conditions were so terrible that you can hardly call that place home. And after the revolution, you never belonged to any one place, because as part of the army, you were always mobilizing, always on the move.

And despite not knowing these things about your past, Feferi somehow manages to say exactly what you need to hear at that moment. “It’s okay, sweetheart, because you are home,” she says, “because you’re here with me and I’ll alwaves be close by, whether in person or spirit. Okay?”

Through a curtain of snot and tears, you still manage to give a shaky nod and Feferi hugs you tighter. You sniffle loudly, trying to regain control of your breathing, but Feferi rocks you gently and soothingly says, “It’s okay, sweetie. Let it all out.”

You listen to the sound of Feferi’s shooshing and eventually your bloodpusher rate starts to calm down. It reminds you of the time you accidentally witnessed a particularly emotional jam between Sollux and Aradia when they thought you were asleep in the next sleeping bag over. Back then, all you could feel was embarrassment as you listened to the sounds of shooshing. But this time, Feferi is the one shooshing, not Aradia; the seadweller’s voice has a higher-pitched, more feminine and watery quality than Aradia’s, and instead of Sollux you are the one being shooshed, and instead of embarrassment, all you can feel is gratitude and painful endearment. For a little while, our pan scrambles to figure out what all of these feelings mean, but you soon abandon the endeavor, instead giving your full focus to the feeling of Feferi’s body surrounding you.

“Shoooooosh…”

As your tears finally begin to dry, you succumb to the lure of sleep, still wrapped in the fuchsiablood’s arms.

Later, you wake up in darkness, and Feferi is nowhere to be seen. However, there are little signs that prove that she was indeed here, that her presence wasn’t just a figment of your imagination. Judging by the wooziness in your head and the stillness in your previously spasming legs, Feferi did give you sopor before she left, after all. After struggling to sit up, you observe that she must have arranged your body in a comfortable position after you fell asleep, judging by the neat arrangement of your legs that would’ve been impossible for you to achieve yourself. And then you double-take when you realize that your legs have once again been clothed in Gamzee’s pajama pants; you blush at the thought of Feferi dressing you while you were asleep. You use one arm to brace yourself against the wall, and use the other hand to pull the pant legs up, exposing your two crippled appendages. Warmth pulses in your bloodpusher when you see them wrapped neatly in clean white bandages, an obvious product of Feferi’s meticulous handiwork. As you clumsily attempt to roll the pant legs back down, you notice that the hole that had been blown through the pant leg from Chahut’s kneecapping has been stitched shut with fuchsia-colored thread. You run your fingers along the seam, in numb disbelief of Feferi’s incredible thoughtfulness.

After you have successfully covered your legs once again, you notice something that has been placed on the floor next to you. It’s a bit difficult to see in the darkness, but when you lean closer you realize that it’s a container of soup and a canteen of water. Your eyes widen like you have just found treasure, and suddenly the dull ache in your throat and empty stomach return with intensity tenfold. It takes all of your willpower not to grab the food and water and scarf it all down your throat in one or two gulps.

You have a short mental battle with yourself about whether you should drink the water or eat the soup first. You soon decide it doesn’t matter and grab the soup container first. With trembling fingers, you open the lid, and the aroma that immediately bombards your nostrils is so good that you want to cry.

You try to maintain as much decorum as possible as you dig into your meal, not wanting to look like some starved barkbeast (even though no one is actually watching you right now) for the sake of your own pride. Rufio would never eat like a savage starved barkbeast, right?

As you savor the meal Feferi prepared for you, you think about your future. You are still terrified, but for the first time you are able to contemplate your trial with a clear mind.

——-

Seconds, minutes, and hours again blur into one after Feferi’s fateful visit. Xefros’s absence is affecting you more than you expected, and you find yourself on the precipice of depression as you wallow in loneliness. You wonder how the rustblood is doing. Probably not well.

Chahut is the one who comes to get you. She stands at the door of your cell for a few moments, and her large, intimidating figure makes you gulp in fear. Even before she says a word, you have a sinking feeling about what she is here for.

She has to duck her head to fit through the cell door. You force yourself not to cower, instead looking at her dead in the eye with as neutral an expression as possible.

She strides over to you, looking over you and casting your entire body in shadow. She lets out a deep, throaty chuckle.

Then she kneels down and pulls your limp legs into her lap. For a shuttering moment, you think she’s about to rape you again. But her hands don’t migrate between your legs.

She leans in close to your face. “Hey, little messiah,” she whispers.

Your throat closes up, but you force Rufio to answer for you. “Uh, hey…there?”

“You’re cute,” she laughs, grabbing one of your horns. “The crowd’s gonna go batshit for you.”

You swallow hard.

“Tell me, little messiah...is it just the chucklevoodoos’ bitchin’ influence you can withstand with that gutterblood pan of yours, or is it any fuckin’ kind of psychic power?”

You frown, not really able to comprehend her question while she’s breathing on your face. “Uh...I don’t know.”

“Course you fucking don’t. Gutterbloods don’t know shit, ain’t that right.”

“That is a rather ignorant statement, uh, that you’re making.”

Chahut pauses for a few seconds, as though trying to decide whether to be offended. However, you can see in her eyes that she is too excited by something to let your statement bother her. “Those fuckin’ blueblood irons or whatever-the-fuck can’t be hotter than the miraculous psychic ability endowed upon the Messiahs’ sacred caste,” she says with a twisted grin. “Imagine Her fuckin’ Majesty’s surprise when the blueblood mind games fail right in front of her face. You better not disappoint, shitblood.”

You are truly at a loss at what Chahut is trying to convey. Is she...snubbing the Empress? What exactly does she expect of you, and what do bluebloods have to do with any of this?

“They’re gonna go apeshit bananas over your cute little crippled ass, little messiah,” she smiles. “You ready, motherfucker? No? HaHA, doesn’t fucking matter, ‘cause it’s showtime.”

She pulls you even further onto her lap. “And before I forget,” she says, “it’s a fuckin’ tradition for shitbloods to march to their legal condemnation in chains on their fuckin’ hands and feet.” She pulls out a pair of shackles and laughs darkly at the expression on your face. “But I suppose we can eliminate part of the traditional equation, to accommodate the special little miracle bestowed upon us. Hmm, little messiah?” Without giving you time to respond, she grabs your hands roughly and slaps the manacles onto your wrists. You can’t help the unmanly yelp that escapes your lips; the iron fetters are heavy and rusty, with a short chain in between them that only allow you to separate your hands about one foot from each other. Worse, however, is the humiliation.

Chahut promptly slaps your face, hard. Nothing like Feferi’s slap, which was just to get your attention; this subjugglator has no intention except to punish. “Shut up, lowblood,” she snarls. You try to lift your hands to defend yoursel, but the chains weigh you down and the sharp edges of the cuffs dig painfully into your bones. You suddenly realize that the restricted state of your hands combined with your disabled legs render you as helpless as a worm right now. You want to cry, to succumb to hyperventilation, but you know everything is only about to get so much worse.

“Aww, don’t look so put out, little boy;” Chahut croons. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Besides, I’m prepping you for worse to come. Now come on, I’ll take care of you.” She slides a hand beneath your shoulders and another one under your floppy knees before standing up, carrying you bridal style. You want to protest, because you are so repulsed by this purpleblood that you’re sure you’d rather crawl a mile, paralysis and shackles and all, than be carried a short distance by her.

Your eyes stay wide open as Chahut carries you past countless other prison cells, through a metal door, up a creaky elevator, and through countless winding corridors and passageways. However, you don’t truly register any of those things because reality has hit you like a sledgehammer. This is—this is real. You’re about to go to trial. Your scared face is about to be broadcasted across Alternia. You’re about to face the largest crowd of hostile highbloods you will ever encounter.

You’re about to see the Empress.

If the blood in your very lips hadn’t frozen in your petrification, you would be whispering prayers to whatever deities right now. Even Gamzee’s Messiahs, even though you’re not sure whether those deities in particular would look kindly upon a lowblood such as yourself. You pray for an extra five minutes, an extra few seconds, even, for this trial that lies ahead of you.

Because you’re not ready. You’re. Not. Ready. You are scared. Oh no. No, no, no, no no no no nononononono—

You always wanted to be a hero. You wanted to fight bad guys and bring peace and glory to your people. You wanted to be surrounded by the people you loved, by people who loved you. And yet, this might be the closest you ever get to being a hero. Alone, chained, crippled, hated, scorned—

Within an hour’s time, you may be dead. Or you may be in excruciating pain after the highbloods torture you. Perhaps both.

You don’t know it yet, but your fears will only be half-realized. Only one of those two terrible fates will befall you.

Chahut finally arrives at a large set of gilded double doors, flanked by a single guard who also appears to be a subjugglator. Chahut, who has been silent the entire way here, suddenly speaks and you feel her whole chest rumble around you.

“We clear to go in?” she asks.

The other subjugglator shakes his head no. “Give ‘em ‘bout fifteen more minutes to stretch their legs and clean up. We’re running just the slightest bit behind.”

“There much to clean?”

“Eh, they haven’t disposed of the body yet.”

“So it was an execution?”

“Yup.” The subjugglator pops his p. “The blueblood Iknyah had the oliveblood bitch whining like a horny slut the entire time. His Honor made his decision pretty fucking quick. The Empress didn’t even open her mouth once this time. Them bluebloods better up their game before Her Majesty actually falls the fuck to sleep!”

“Aw, those fuckin’ idiot midbloods,” Chahut comments. “Well, who’s the executioner this time?”

“Well, in that regard we got pretty lucky this time. Xoloto.”

“Damn, he’ll certainly make a colorful display out of those traitorous bloodbags, huh.”

“A bit on the savage side, just the way the Messiahs like it,” the subjugglator says. “But not completely unruly like Makara.”

Your breath hitches loudly at that last comment, and the subjugglator seems to notice you for the first time. He raises his eyebrow. “And who is this piece of meat?”

“This is the rustbloods’ Little Messiah,” Chahut grins, showing you off to the other man. “Saw Trizza’s little bitch with him, little while back. Worshipped this tiny boy like he was a fuckin’ prophet.”

The subjugglator bursts out laughing. “Hahahahaha, I really can’t believe the extent of the gutterbloods’ stupidity!” Addressing you, he says, “So what is it that you do, prophet? Fuck the shit out of the rustbloods, don’t you, ‘cause they’re all little whores and like having your tiny bulge up their dirty nooks?”

“More like he’s the whore who lets anybody take their turn in his nook,” Chahut says. “I know for a fact that he managed to seduce fuckin’ Makara too.”

“Ha, ha, ha—Chahut—make your jokes at least somewhat credible.”

“I ain’t lyin’!” she hisses. “Just you fuckin’ wait, you laughing douchebag, this little man’s gonna be a field trip down there in that room. I’ll bet he’ll even make the Empress open her mouth at some point.”

The two subjugglators continue to bicker about whether or not you really seduced Gamzee. You realize that in less than fifteen minutes, your trial will commence.

_No, not my trial_ , you convince yourself. _Rufio’s trial_.

——-

Much too soon, the double doors open. You hear them before you see them. The highbloods, that is, laughing and jeering and demanding the next shitblood get an even more gruesome execution. They are talking about you, and they haven’t even seen your face yet. They don’t even know your name, and they don’t care, either. Lowbloods are all the same to them.

The noise reminds you of the small crowd that cheered for Captain Nektan back on Gamzee’s camp, when the seadweller was raping you right there on the four-wheel device Gamzee got for you. But back there, there were a few dozen highbloods laughing at your misery. This time, in this courtroom, there are a few thousands.

The noise gets louder when the audience finally catches sight of you, not being marched in on your two feet, but being carried by Chahut. Murmurs of confusion, indignation, anger, and even amusement erupt at the sight of the two of you. You can hear highbloods pushing each other out of the way, trying to get a better look at the next lowblood victim. However, you can no longer focus on their words because you have been distracted by the magnificence of the courtroom around you.

Massive crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, which is made completely of glass. Beyond the glass is not the blue sky—instead, it’s the sparkling blue sea. This entire courtroom is built underwater, you realize: fitting, since it is the seadwelling Empress’s domain.

There are two extremely lifelike, extremely detailed murals on the circular walls that surround the room; they are so gigantic that they cover the floor to ceiling. The mural on the left depicts various atrocious crimes being committed by lowbloods; among the many painted figures, you see a rustblood woman raping an indigoblood man, an oliveblood stuffing his face with the bloody remains of a violetblood, a goldblood dumping filial pails filled with highblood genetic material into a river, and a bronzeblood sitting triumphantly on a pile of severed highblood heads. The mural on the left is much simpler, containing the image of a giant scale that is perfectly balanced; the left scale holds an arrangement of blue, purple, and pink flowers, while the right scale contains the severed head of a bronzeblood (the same bronzeblood, you note, as the one in the other mural). Along the bottom of the two murals is inscribed, in very fancy calligraphy:

_No crime in Alternia shall suffer impunity_  
_For every shameful act of disloyalty_  
_Shall be avenged with twelvefold severity._

_That rhymes_ , you think, as a chill runs up your spine.

There is a long aisle that is lined with fuchsia carpet that divides the room into two halves; the spectators of the trials sit on long benches on either side of the center aisle. As Chahut carries you down the center aisle towards the front of the room, you subtly attempt to scan the crowds for any sign of Feferi and Gamzee. You have no idea whether Gamzee has arrived in the Capitol yet. While you yearn to see him, part of you hopes that he was delayed, somehow, so that he doesn’t have to watch the abomination that your trial will surely become, and do something rash that will get him in trouble in front of all these prying eyes. However, not only do you fail at finding either Gamzee or Feferi, you somehow manage to meet the gaze of Xefros’s fuchsiablood mistress, of all people, among the crowd. You quickly look away as a smirk begins to curl her lips.

Chahut continues walking down the carpeted aisle until she is standing on a spot near the front of the room that is drenched in so much blood that the carpet literally squelches every time she so much as shifts her weight. This, you realize, is where flagellations and executions take place. The freshest layer of blood on the carpet appears to be olive, although it’s a bit hard to tell since the many layers of other blood colors beneath it have turned substance into a muddy sludge. Well, didn’t that subjugglator guard outside say that the last trial was an oliveblood’s?

“Ms. Maenad,” a voice booms, and you look up to see a “His Honor”, a black-clad legislacerator sitting at the front of the room, “before the trial commences, could you please do us the honor of explaining why the defendant found it fit to be escorted to his trial in such a manner?”

“Oops,” Chahut giggles, and abruptly she removes her hands from under you and you tumble a few feet to the floor. There are squeals and jeers from the audience as you land, face-first, in blood that is still slick and warm. You feel your entire shirtfront becoming soaked. You resist the urge to rub your ribs, which ache from landing directly on the iron shackles, and instead hastily wipe your face with the back of your arm, which remains clean for now. And then you look up.

The legislacerator’s podium is situated only a few feet in front of you, but his bench is raised so that the entire room may seem him. From your position on the floor, you have to crane your neck an uncomfortable angle to be able to see him.

On either side of him is a blueblood woman, although you are not really sure what purpose they serve in the court. Further down the right side of the podium is a tealblood, who is typing away a husktop. The court scribe, you assume.

And on a platform behind the legislacerator’s bench, raised even higher above the ground, is a throne so shiny that you wouldn’t be surprised if it were made of pure gold. And in it, is the most beautiful and terrible woman you have ever seen. Two slaves stand on either side of the seadweller troll who is clad in a shiny, skintight jumpsuit with fuchsia outlines that hugs her voracious curves. Her long, flowing, ebony hair cascades down her shoulders, along her bangle-decorated arms, all the way down the sides of the golden throne and onto the floor. Her long horns are almost as tall as her. Her bored, long-lashed gaze is currently directed at one of her servants, who is holding a tray filled with wine and fruit.

It’s the Empress.

She’s shorter than you expected, for such a powerful woman, but what she lacks in height she makes up for in presence. Her oppressing aura fills up every crevice of the room.  
“Ms. Maenad, please remember to maintain proper decorum in the royal courthouse,” the legislacerator chastises. “Your infraction will be overlooked due to the fact that the trial has not officially commenced.”

“Apologies, Your Honor,” Chahut says, bowing. “I assure that there was a legitimate reason that the procedure was performed...heh, differently. I must confess we have found ourselves a little bitch with special needs. Perhaps the defendant can inform the court himself.” Her speech is surprisingly formal and almost curse-free.

The legislacerator peers over his bench to look at you with cold, hostile eyes. After several moments of silence, you realize that he is waiting for your answer.

Rather than answer immediately, you decide to arrange yourself in a more dignified position first. You do not want to completely succumb to the humiliation that the highbloods are obviously trying to impose upon you. You try to block out the incredulous eyes trained on you from all around the room as you drag yourself into a kneeling position, doing your best to keep your legs folded underneath you. You try not to think about how the small endeavor is already making you short of breath. Rufio would hold his head high even if he were injured or crippled, right? So you hold your head as high as you possibly can and answer, “Your Honor, I did not wish to, uh, arrive late at this ceremony, you were all so kind to arrange on my behalf, so uh...Ms. Maenad was considerate enough, to aid me in a method of travel, that I, uh, am incapable of accomplishing myself, without...significant...delays.”

Above you, Chahut snorts. She probably doesn’t appreciate being described as “considerate” by a lowblood. “What the little man means to say, is that he’s got fucked-up legs that can’t feel a fuckin’ thing and ain’t fit for walking.”

At this, the Empress lifts her head for the first time, her sharp eyes suddenly sparkling with curiosity. You want nothing more than to melt into a puddle right here and right now.

The entire courtroom bursts into laughter. Behind you, Chahut crosses her arms and smirks as countless highbloods point at you, their cruel comments making a miserable cacophany in your thinkpan.

“SILENCE!” His Honor yells, banging his gavel several times, but you sneak a look at him and he appears to be swallowing down his amusement, as well. “Please watch your language, Ms. Maenad. As interesting as this development is, we cannot proceed with a trial in such a raucous environment. Ms. Entykk,” he looks over at the teablood court scribe, “check the report on this defendant for any information about his physical condition.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” The scribe fires away at the keyboard of her husktop. “Yes, sir, the report from Captain Eridan Ampora states, quote: ‘at first sight, the prisoner in question may seem like a harmless cull due to his physical impediments. His true, and dangerous, potential, however, lies in his psychic abilities.’ End quote.”

“Well, well, well...I must admit that the degree of bodily failure does surprise me. If anything I’d expect a broken arm or two, perhaps, not...complete lameness.” The courtroom laughs again, but in a more hushed manner, this time. “It seems, ladies and gentlemen, we have been served a half-eaten meal.” More laughter. “Well, let us just see to it that your psychic abilities cover the putrid taste of your disability, shall we not?” Before you have a chance to respond, he bangs his gavel once more. “Let the trial commence!”

Clearing his throat, he pulls out a piece of paper and begins to read. “Case Number 252 of Alternia vs. Lowblood Defendant, Bronze of Blood. The defendant of Case 252 was captured by High Side Division 420 under the leadership of Captain Nektan Whelan, but was reported as a ‘dangerous individual capable of highblood manipulation’ by Captain Eridan Ampora, who replaced his successor after the latter’s death. Review of his case has led to the conclusion that said defendant shall be tried for six counts of crime both related and unrelated to war. The crimes in this case shall now be named accordingly:

“Count One: Unlawful Abandonment. The Defendant is guilty of unlawfully and willingly abandoning his duties within Alternian Empire. Defendant, Bronze of Blood, is not a privately owned entity, and as such is considered property of the Alternian Empire. Individuals of the bronze caste are assigned the duty of labor. Abandonment is defined as the neglect of or lack of performance of said duty.

“Count Two: Membership in Criminal Organizations. The Defendant is guilty of membership in a criminal organization. Lowbloods United Against Highblood Tyranny (colliqually known as the Lowblood Army or Low Side), is, according to Provision no. 58248 in the Constitution, a criminal organization with the intent of overthrowing the government.

“Count Three: War Crimes. The Defendant is guilty of participating in war crimes, which may include the harming, maiming, or murder of highblood soldiers and/or civilians, and the destruction of private and/or state-owned property. The extent and nature of the Defendant’s specific crimes will be further investigated in the course of the trial.

“Count Four: Inappropriate Relations With A Highblood. The Defendant is guilty of engaging in inappropriate relations with a highblood. Highblood, according to Provision no. 47924 in the Constitution, is loosely defined as any individual in or above the teal caste. Inappropriate relations may include sexual and/or romantic advances/activities with a highblood individual or individuals. The extent and nature of the Defendant’s specific crimes will be further investigated in the course of the trial.

“Count Five: Inappropriate Relations With A Highblood Lusus.” At this, you hear loud gasping among the audience, and also some snickers. You cringe at the title of this particular “crime”, because it makes it sound like you fucked someone’s lusus, and judging by the murmurs permeating the audience, the spectators think so too. His Honor bangs his gavel sharply to silence the room once more. “This is a highly specific and unusual crime,” he comments, peering at you. Clearing his throat, he continues, “The extent and nature of the Defendant’s specific crimes will be further investigated in the course of the trial.

“Count Six: Bodily Impediments. The Defendant is guilty of possessing either a mental or physical handicap which renders him unable to perform his assigned duty and/or donate genetic material.” With a start, you realize that you are being charged for being paralyzed. You are surprised even though you shouldn’t be. Being crippled is, after, usually one of the first reasons trolls get culled. “The extent and nature of the Defendant’s specific impediments will be further investigated in the course of the trial, such as his ability to produce genetic material.” Your throat catches at the last statement. What do they mean by that?

Are they going to...violate you, try to get you to cum, in front of the entire country?

“This concludes the naming of all counts of crime committed by the Defendant,” His Honor continues. “The Defendant will be given the opportunity to deny or confess each of these charges. But before that, the court shall collect basic information from the Defendant. Defendant, please state, in a clear and concise fashion, your given name and age.”

This is it, you think. You glance at the cooling olive blood staining the carpet beneath you and think of Nepeta. _Imagine you’re roleplaying this scene with Nepeta. She’s the evil legislacerator and you are the hero, Champion of all Lowbloods and Wigglers. She says, “AC licks her lips menacingly at the bronzeblood hero and purrs, ‘Lowblood! What was the name given to you by your lusus, and how old are you?”_

_And the brave hero, refusing to be intimidated by the evil legislacerator, says--_

Tell us your name and tell us the truth, Lowblood, a voice whispers into the back of your head, and you feel a strange, but oddly familiar, pressure to your skull that makes your eyes cross.

_What_? You respond mentally.

Tell us your name and tell us the truth, Lowblood, the command repeats, more forcefully this time, and you fight against the urge to open your mouth and answer the question truthfully.

And it dawns upon you why this sensation feels so familiar. And you realize what purpose the bluebloods serve in the court, and why Chahut was so eager to know whether or not you could withstand their powers. The bluebloods mind control the lowblood defendants, so that the lowbloods speak and behave in a manner that is the most entertaining for the spectators. These trials, after all, were never an endeavor to achieve justice, just a sickening way of providing entertainment to the highblood crowds.

Vriska mind-controlled you into revealing your name, once, back when you were a fresh prisoner on hers, Gamzee’s, and Feferi’s platoon. But that was back before you were psychically “conditioned” by Gamzee’s constant and extensive use of chucklevoodoos on your pan. You’ve become stronger since then, and besides, this blueblood feels a lot weaker than Vriska did.

Your tongue catches, several times, in protest, but you finally resist the commanding voice in your pan and choke out, “My name is Rufio Nitram!”

Whatever reaction you expected, this was not it. So you gave the court a false name. You hadn’t even said anything controversial yet, had you…?

Because there is a five-second pause after your outburst, and then the Empress is leaping off her golden throne onto her feet. Her furious expression is the scariest thing you have ever seen in your whole life. Her sharp teeth are bared in a feral manner and she stares at you and screams, “HE LIES!”

The whole courtroom turns silent.

The Empress looks down at the blueblood sitting on the right side of His Honor, whose calm composure has cracked. He appears to be sweating and nervously fidgeting with his gavel. The blueblood, on the other hand, looks positively terrified, and is shivering violently.

“Iknyah, what the fuck is the meaning of this?” Her Majesty demands. “Why did you allow him to say that?”

“I. I don’t know,” the blueblood mumbles. Her voice sounds just like that one that whispered into your pan. “Perhaps that, that is indeed his name, Rufio Nitram—“

“LIES! It’s impossible!” the Empress snarls. “Wait, hold on a minute. Are you in on this convoluted scheme?”

“Scheme? W-what scheme? I don’t know what you’re—“

“You made him say that, didn’t you. That was you!”

“I didn’t, I swear, I don’t know!”

“Then you shoulda prevented him for saying it, bitch. You are glubbin’ fired, you hear me? Xoloto! Take care of this one.”

“My pleasure, Your Majesty.” A subjugglator wearing a top hat steps out of the crowd. He’s wearing clothes that would be very gentlemanly were they not smothered in blood. The executioner, you realize numbly. Is he going to kill you already?

But he heads up several wooden steps leading up to the legislacerator’s podium, and unceremoniously tosses Iknyah over his shoulder. Her face is completely ashen and she’s screaming by now. “PLEASE! YOUR MAJESTY, PLEASE! I DIDN’T MEAN TO! I WON’T FAIL YOU AGAIN!”

The room is still deathly silent and Iknyah’s screams echo loudly off the walls. Yet her pleas fall on deaf ears as Xoloto leaves the legislacerator’s bench and puts Iknyah down. He puts both hands on either side of her head, then twists, twists, twists, with a motion that is painfully slow, and all you can hear beneath her wailing is grinding and crunching.

And then she falls limp, her neck having been twisted 180 degrees in its socket.

You stare at the scene. What have you done?

The Empress sits back down. “Now then,” she says, as if she hadn’t just ordered the brutal execution of one of her citizens, “we can proceed. Carmia, I’ve heard that your abilities rival most of those in your caste.”

The remaining blueblood nods sharply, somehow remaining unruffled. “Yes, Your Majesty.” You take a good look at her and notice that she has three eyes. What the…?

“Well then…didn’t want to waste your talents like this but we do need someone to replace Iknyah. If you fail too...something is seriously carped up in here.”

“You flatter me, Your Majesty. I shall waste no time.”

And then the insistent pressure in the back of your pan, and this time the voice is hissing _TELL US YOUR NAME TELL US YOUR NAME YOUR REAL NAME DO IT DO IT_ and you want to just give in because somehow you know that allowing the truth to slip through your lips will relieve this painful pressure in your head.

But somewhere in the corner of your consciousness, you are aware that giving in is something Rufio would never do. And you aren’t Tavros right now, you’re Rufio and you can still throw off this Carmia woman because despite everything she’s still not as powerful as Vriska—

It’s as difficult as throwing a boulder off your shoulders, but you manage to resist Carmia’s psychic control, as well. “My. Name. Is. Rufio. Nitram,” you grind out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read dozens of pages of WWII Nuremberg trials just to get a feel for this fic. BE VERY THANKFUL anyway, I hope I did the court scene some justice. Political courtspeak is SO HARD


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!: THIS IS THE MOST IMPORTANT CHAPTER SO FAR. I apologize if some parts of it are kinda boring. But they were all necessary because of foreshadowing and shit. Being a writer is fucking hard.
> 
> Most definitely the most difficult chapter so far. I definitely cringed while writing some parts (and not only because of shitty quality). I AM SO EMBARASSED that it has taken me so long, mostly because I KNOW I could've been faster. I've known almost exactly what I wanted to do with the trial scene since like, Chapter 10. Anyway, part of my slothlike pace was because I at first tried to fit the ENTIRE trial scene into this one chapter, but eventually I found that it would be better to space things out rather than rush everything in one chapter. The other part of the reason is because I was overseas. YAY DEUTSCHLAND! Any German friends out there? :)
> 
> My goal for myself after this is 2,000 words a day. I have too many ideas in my head anyway, they need OUT! Think I can do it? *fingers crossed* 
> 
> Ok, let me shut up for now because you have 32 pages to read! Ready, se--what are you waiting for, GO GO GO! }:oP
> 
> Art for this chapter at: https://yzydragon2222.deviantart.com/art/iT-HURTS-bUT-YOUR-BLOODPUSHER-HURTS-MORE-746532718

Chapter 20

 

—> BE TAVROS NITRAM

 

The blueblood’s psychic grip on your thinkpan slackens, and you use all of your mental willpower to push her out.  The effort leaves you dizzy and lightheaded, and part of you thinks that it must be a pretty bad sign that you’re already feeling so drained and the only thing you’ve even attempted to do is say is the name of your fake alter ego.  You don’t dwell on this, though, and decide to take advantage of the fact that you are, at the present moment, blueblood-mind-control-free. “Rufio Nitram, that is, very honestly, uh, my name,” you ramble nervously a bit too quickly and loudly.  You want to speak before you lose your nerve, or before Carmia tries to mind control you again. “I’m Rufio Nitram, uh, bronzeblood—oh wait uh you uh know that already—and um, I’m nine, nine sweeps old and I am—“

 

“SHUT UP!” The Empress booms, “Shut your GLUBBIN’ fish trap, you GLUBBIN’ LIAR!”  She’s on her feet, standing before her gleaming throne, and her sclera are red with rage to the point of matching of Karkat’s blood.  And those scary eyes are directed straight at you, and your mouth snaps shut because you’re pretty sure that there can’t be anything more terrifying in the world than an Empress that is angry at you, and that even Rufio would be scared, at least a little bit.  

 

“Carmia…” the Empress then growls, and the blueblood quickly straightens.  She mostly still appears as unruffled as ever, but the widening of all three of her eyes is indication enough that she is actually pretty ruffled, and probably shocked, too, at the failure of her mind powers.  

 

“Your Majesty, he somehow has very sturdy defenses against my psychic invasion,” she quickly says.  “His mental walls are as thick as a tealblood’s, but on top of that he seems to know how to avoid my influences.”

 

“I don’t glubbin’ care, you stinkin’ midblood bitch.  Try the fuck again. Make him do something else this time, see if that glubbin’ works, maybe he’s just got a glitch in his stupid pan when it comes to his own name.”

 

“Right away, Your Majesty.”

 

You brace yourself for another onslaught of painful mind control, but to your surprise, the Carmia woman imposes her psychic control much more gently this time.  Just now, it felt like she’d dropped a boulder on your pan and tried to beat you into submission. This time, it feels like a cold fist wrapping around your pan and squeezing slowly.  Still uncomfortable, but less jarring. She’s trying a different tactic to successfully mind control you, you surmise. She’s a smart woman, versatile—

 

_How flattering, Rufio.  Thank you._

 

You start when her voice echoes loudly in your head.  You realize that by letting your mind wander, you’d let your guard down.  Quickly, you slam up your mental defenses, shutting her out.

 

 _So hostile_ , her voice says coolly, sounding more muffled this time now that you’re actively trying to keep her out.   _Don’t fret, Rufio, I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, so just listen to the sound of my voice.  Don’t you want to stand, Rufio? Don’t you want to walk? Get up and walk, my dear._

 

Oh yes, you do so very much want to stand up and walk again, and your entire body itches with the desire to obey the voice whispering in your head.  But in another corner of your pan, something doesn’t feel right. Why not? You want to walk, and now the voice is cajoling you to do it.

 

Curiously, you finally snap out of it by imagining Vriska’s voice. _Only someone as pathetic as you would fall for such an obvious trick!  Trickety trickety trickery Toreadork, you’re a cripple with useless legs and noooooooothing will ever change that._

 

The desire shatters and with one last firm push, you escape Carmia’s influence.  You silently thank Vriska for all those times that she mocked you—in an ironic way, she helped you keep a grip on grim reality.

 

You feel Carmia’s heated gaze burning holes into your head, so you look resolutely at the floor when you say, “I apologize, but uh, I really can’t do the thing, you want me to do, even though it would’ve been, uh, nice, to be able to do it.”

 

“What, did it work?  What is he glubbing about?  What happened?” The Empress demands.  

 

Carmia swallows hard to maintain her composure.  “I tried a different tactic to make him submit to my control, by trying to make him do something his subconscious wouldn’t be averse to performing—“

 

“Cut the carp, I don’t care about how you bitches mind-rape these shitblood fuckers.  What did you make him do?”

 

“I...tried to make him stand up and walk, Your Majesty—“

 

“And why the shell is that?  Chahut here was already kind enough to let us know that the fucker’s legs are messed up.”

 

“I’m aware of that, Your Majesty!  I was only trying to trick his subconscious into trusting me, but…unfortunately it doesn’t seem to have worked.  He’s hyper aware of what I’m trying to do.”

 

The Empress falls silent for a moment, then narrows her eyes at Carmia.  “You ain’t fuckin’ with me?” she questions the blueblood suspiciously. “‘Cause if you are…”

 

“No, Your Majesty, I speak only the truth!” Carmia exclaims, a hint of panic finally seeping into her voice.  “My powers have never failed you before. The fault does not lie with me, it’s the shitblood’s deformed pan that’s to blame! I am your loyal servant, Your Majesty, to disobey you would be to destroy my very—“

 

“Bluh, bluh, blubber blubber bluh.  Aren’t you forgetting somefin, _Ardata_?  Your powers have never failed—until now, that is.  There’s a first time for everyfin, and that includes fucking it up so badly I have to consider culling you.”  

 

The blueblood, whose first name you assume is Ardata, gulps nervously.  

 

“But I must admit that you’ve satisfied me with your services in the past and I don’t see why you’d choose now, of all times, to embarrass yourself in front of everyone.  I’ll let you off the hook for now and figure out what to do with you later.”

 

Ardata squirms and you can’t help but feel for her—you resent her psychic invasion but she was only doing her job.  Clinging to the idea that you have nothing much left to lose, you squeak, “Uh...Your Majesty?”

 

Ardata’s eyebrows disappear into her bangs; the Empress looks confused for all of five seconds until her eyes zero in on you and she realizes that _you_ are the one daring to address her.  Incredulity spills all over her face.  

 

“Why, yes, lowblood?” she asks, flipping her hair.  “Since you asked so politely, permission is granted for you to speak.”

 

“I, uh...well, I just, thought it would be helpful, to, uh...Miss Carmia’s case...if I informed Your Majesty, that she isn’t, er, fucking with you, in any way...she really was trying very hard and she’s just as powerful as Vriska, and uh, I was only just, able to...resist her…” Your voice trails off to a tiny peep.  

 

“Is that so, lowblood?  Well, I appreciate you shining some light upon the matter.  Now I got another question for ya. Mind shining some light on why the _glub_ you’re trying to defend this beach?”

 

“I—“

 

“The two of you know each other or some shit?”

 

“No!” you cry desperately.  “I just—uh, I just don’t like it, when people are undeservedly, uh, punished…”

 

It starts from a few snickers in the audience, but it spreads like wildfire.  Soon, all the highbloods in the courtroom are guffawing—with the exception of Ardata, who is flushed blue and glaring daggers at you.  You wrecked her pride, you realize, because you’re a lowblood cripple sitting in chains and she’s a respectable highblood, and yet you attempted to defend her.  As for the rest of the highbloods—for them, delivering punishment upon others is a source of entertainment and a display of strength, and it is utterly foreign and plainly hilarious to them that anyone would openly admit to disliking punishing others.  

 

No one laughs louder than the Empress, however. She laughs so hard that she doubles over, clutching her sides, and the two servants standing by her throne look torn between assisting heritage her feet and allowing her to laugh herself to tears.  

 

“My, my, my, _Rufio Nitram_ , you are so naive it’s glubbin’ _cute_ ,” the Empress drawls.  “Or maybe you’re just stupid and forgot one teeny tiny detail.   _Nobody_ is undeserving of _my_ punishment.”  Her voice is deadly and suddenly the entire courtroom stops laughing.  “Nobody in ALL OF ALTERNIA! Not you, and not _her_ , either.”  The Empress picks up a trident that was lying next to her throne and swings it around with ease, as though the weapon were no more than an extension of her own arm.  Then she jumps down right in front of Ardata and grabs the back of the blueblood’s head by her hair, exposing her neck. Ardata gives a faint squeak as the prongs of the Empress’s trident are held up to her throat.  

 

“Does this upset you, lowblood?” the Empress says softly.  “Does it make the itty-bitty shitblood sad when I do THIS?”  She makes a sudden, sharp movement with her trident, and you flinch as the deadly tips of the trident graze Ardata’s flesh.  Ardata somehow remains motionless and completely compliant to the Empress’s mercy, even though all three of her pupils are dilated with fear.  

 

You are not sure what is the safest way to respond.  You know that the Empress is mocking you, trying to provoke you, and now she’s putting the life of another troll directly in your hands and watching you flail.  “I, uh, uhhhh—“ you stammer helplessly, clenching your shackled fists so hard that your nails pierce the flesh of your palms and leave tiny rivulets of bronze streaming in between your fingers.  Not trusting your voice, you give a frantic nod.

 

“I think it does!” the Empress singsongs, and she starts jabbing Ardata’s neck with the trident, not enough to her seriously injure her but enough to open shallow wounds of cerulean blue on the otherwise unblemished throat.  If the Empress chose to use a little more force with her movements, she could easily skewer the blueblood’s neck. “Well, clearly you don’t know Miss Ardata well enough. Let me give you a little introduction. This chick is a glubbing beach, goes through a dozen gutterblood slaves a week just to torture them, or cull them if she’s feelin’ the mercy.  She wouldn’t hesitate to rip you apart, Rufio Nitram. In fact, hee hee hee, just look at the hatred in her eyes, all that glubbing hatred for you. She’s thinkin’ of the, oh, one-thousand three-hundred forty-seventh way to krill you slowly, probably. Was it one-thousand three-hundred forty-seven? Eh, can’t remember, haven’t checked Prongle in a while.  Now, anyway, _Rufio Nitram_ , don’t you agree that someone like her deserves to be punished?”  The Empress’s eyes glitter. “Now, I might even say she deserves to die.  Hmm?”

 

You don’t know whether Ardata Carmia really tortures and kills lowblood slaves and broadcasts it on Prongle or whatever.  All things considered, the answer is probably yes. But—that’s also not the point. Contrary to Karkat’s insistent criticisms, you’re not stupid, and you know that the Empress is simply trying to discredit you by making you agree to justification of punishing others.  She wants you to condone murder. But your inability to condone it under any circumstance is a side of yourself that you’ve struggled with for sweeps, and even though you haven’t truly come to peace with your inability to hurt or kill others (even if they do deserve it), you know you can’t falter from your stance, questionable though it may be, now that the Empress is grilling you.  You’re more than just a pawn in the highbloods’ courtroom.

 

“I’m, not really in the position, to make that decision, of whether or not someone deserves to remain, um, alive,” you squeak.  

 

The Empress blinks, having not expected that answer, but she quickly recovers and says, “Glubbin’ right you are, you glubbin’ shitblood, you and the rest of you mudblooded oinkbeasts ain’t in the position to make any decision because you’re low as _shit_.  Hmm...whale, Empress is a generous monarch and cares about all her subjects, no matter what they’re made out of.”  You resist the urge to roll your eyes at this. “So I’m gonna give you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You make the choice.  Make the choice to krill her, and Empress will execute her, just for you. Any way you like.”

 

The sound is so soft and faint that you almost miss it, but you hear Ardata’s breath catch.  However, you needn’t have heard the pitiful sound to easily refuse the Empress’s “tempting” offer.  “No.”

 

“You would refuse my generosity?  How very...brash. Not even my highbloods get away with something like that.  Tsk, tsk, it’s really too bad, all the things you’re throwin’ away for the sake of a _highblood_.  What makes you think we want your worthless charity?”

 

“Uh…” you swallow, trying not to let her words make you feel small.  “I am sorry, you don’t want it, uh, my charity, that is...even though it’s not really charity, and it’s not really something I can help, or that is exclusive to highbloods, either, just, um, anyone in general—“

 

“Not charity, you say?  Then what do you call it?  Sacrifice?”

 

“Um...I don’t know—“

 

“I’M GONNA GLUBBING KRILL HER RIGHT NOW!” the Empress suddenly screams, making you jump in fright.  She yanks Ardata’s head all the way back so that her neck is completely exposed; any further and her head would probably snap right off. Ardata yelps but the Empress pays her no mind. “I’M GONNA KRILL HER RIGHT NOW IF YOU DON’T TELL ME EXACTLY WHAT YOU’RE WILLING TO SACRIFICE FOR THIS _HIGHBLOOD_ , YOU PIECE OF CARP!”

 

You don’t hesitate.  “Anything!” It comes out in a shout.

 

Maybe Karkat is right after all; maybe you _are_ stupid, because how foolish would you have to be to lay down precious sacrifices for a stranger, for an enemy?

 

“THEN YOU BETTER GLUBBIN’ MAKE SOME NOISE THAT’LL COMPENSATE FOR THE SATISFACTION I’D GET FROM HEARING HER NECK SNAP IN HALF,” she shouts.  “BECAUSE YOU GOT ME ALL EXCITED FOR MURDER AND NOW YOU’RE JUST LETTIN’ ME DOWN.”

 

“I’m, sorry!  I—“

 

“SAY THAT YOU’RE A GOGDAMN WHORE FOR HIGHBLOODS AND YOU LIKE EATING YOUR OWN GENETIC MATERIAL OUT OF HIGHBLOOD NOOKS, AND MAYBE I’LL RECONSIDER.”

 

“I’m a whore for highbloods who likes eating my genetic material out of highblood nooks,” you shout mindlessly, not even realizing what you said until a moment after, and wow, you really want to just die in your own shame right now.

 

The highbloods in the courtroom boo and jeer at how “disgusting” you are.  Some of them hotly protest that they would _never_ let a shitblood like you near them anyway; others enthusiastically comment that they’d let you eat all meals between their legs to your bloodpusher’s content.  You feel tears stinging your eyes at all the injustice.

 

The Empress smirks contentedly.  She removes her trident from beneath Ardata’s neck and cuffs the blueblood roughly on the back of the head, allowing her to crumple to the floor—unconscious, but not dead.  You wonder if Her Majesty ever meant to kill Ardata at all, or if it was all just a ploy to manipulate you. You just made a fool out of yourself, and did any your actions do any good in saving a life?

 

 _Don’t dwell on these negative thoughts_ , Rufio tells you inside your head.  At least you tried. At least you stayed true to yourself.

 

“I must admit that you surprised me with how easily you admitted to that,” the Empress says as she gracefully climbs back up to her throne and sits down.  “It usually takes a lot more persuasion to get gutterbloods to admit what they like doing with their dirty little mouths. Are you just an easy slut or do you have a crush on the blueblood beach, maybe?  I have to say that she’s a little out of your league, shitblood—but if it’s the case I can certainly arrange—a concupiscent rendezvous, given the extraordinary circumstances—“

 

“No,” you gasp, desperate to stop the Empress’s line of thought before it spins out of control.  “I don’t—I don’t like Miss Carmia. Like that. And there’s—um, there is, uh…” You swallow heavily. How to say this?  “I’ve..already given my heart away to, uh, someone, else…”

 

“Ohohohohoho!  What a poet!” the Empress croons. “This I have just _got_ to hear.  Who is the lucky one who possesses thine heart, sir?  They’ve got to be some saaaaad sight if they’re willing to settle for _you._ Another cripple, maybe?  Or is it a lowblood retard, to help you feel less stupid?”

 

“He—er, she, doesn’t really return my feelings,” you say, hoping to gog that the Empress didn’t catch your slip-up.  She doesn’t comment, so you plow on. “She doesn’t return my feelings yet. So it’s unfair, uh, to say that she’s, uh, _settled_ for me, but I guess feelings are something that, can’t be helped, um, regardless, of blood color, and, er, disability.”  You ignore the way the Empress rolls her eyes at this. In a much smaller voice, you complete your second complete and utter fib in the courtroom: “It’s a blueblood...Vriska Serket.”

 

There is blankness in the Empress’s face.  “What?” she finally says, her voice surprisingly void of scorn.

 

“It’s Vriska Serket,” you repeat, forcing Rufio to sound more confident.

 

“It’s Vriska Serket,” the Empress echoes, a distant, thoughtful look on her face.  “Ah, yes. Her. Another blueblood! I was actually being sarcastic but would you look at that, hmm.  I remember...how interesting. _Interesting_.  Hmm.  Oh yes, didn’t you mention her before?  Ah yes, I’m makin’ the connection now. You masochistic or do you have a thing for highbloods?”

 

“Uh, neither, I think.  I’m, uh, I just, have a thing, for extraordinary trolls, I guess, and she’s, um, Vriska, is, definitely extraordinary.”  This, at least, is definitely not a lie. “And she would be, even if she were, um, maroonblooded, which she, happens not to be.”  

 

“And she doesn’t return your feelings.  You sure about that, gutterblood? ‘Cause last I remember of the beach, _she_ had a thing for eatin’ outta the gogdamn sewer.”

 

Images of Vriska’s intense eyes suddenly flood your memory, and you recall the nightmare you had back at the camp, of Vriska forcibly splaying your limp legs and fucking you senseless, before Gamzee managed to extract you from that painful vision.  Your experiences with Captain Nektan and Chahut suddenly make that nightmare seem less nightmarish. You think of Vriska’s acute, persistent bullying, which did not really benefit her, or anyone, in any way, and you wonder if Vriska actually _did_ feel something for you, and why you never wondered this before.  You think of Vriska’s efforts to save your life when you went into cardiac arrest.  In retrospect, her actions seem pretty bizarre.

 

Oh gog.  You hope Vriska doesn’t watch the online broadcast of your trial.  You probably won’t live to see her again, but still...the _awkwardness_.

 

“Um…” you struggle, mind racing.  You didn’t expect the Empress to show such an interest in Vriska.  You didn’t expect her to know who she even was. You only intended to throw the ceruleanblood’s name out here for shock value.  Now, you have no choice but to fabricate a story on the spot. “Um, maybe, in different circumstances? It’s, a pity, I think, uh, because I think, in a, perfect world, we could have maybe, had a peaceful matespritship.  Uh, if, I pursued her, properly, that is.” The words sound so weird coming out of your mouth, because in no worlds, not even a flawless one, can you imagine having a red quadrantship with the terrifying ceruleanblood. “But because we are, uh, enemies, it kind of makes romance, very difficult to achieve?  Um, at least, that’s what, I think, but I’m pretty sure, Vriska dismissed it as a downright, uh, impossibility, because of the war, which I guess, is a pretty big...factor. Also because she couldn’t mind control me—“

 

“What?” the Empress screeches, and you wonder why she sounds so offended by this revelation.  “Not even Serket?”

 

“Uh, well—uh, sometimes she could,” you stutter.  “But sometimes, not? That’s, why she was so, uh, revolted, by me, unfortunately—she probably saw me as a danger, to the High Side—“

 

“A danger to us?   _You_ ?  A lowblood cripple?  Hahahahaha! And this whole time, you were a sympathizer!” the Empress exclaims.  “A Low Side defector, too hungry to lick our shoes to stay away from highbloods, even in the middle of a war!  You see, ladies and gentlemen,” she addresses the crowd, “this is why we must fight the scumbloods. There are two types of them.  One of them is the violent type that feeds off our blood and wouldn’t hesitate to spill our blood, to torture us, to murder us! And the other kind, like this _shitblood_ , is a school of hedonistic sluts who can’t control their glubbing libidos, and they’d fuck us from dawn if it were up to them, which is why they _must_ be subjugated, or crushed beneath our fists, if necessary.”

 

Anger doesn’t come to you easily, but it angers you like nothing else when the Empress speaks of your lowblood comrades this way.  It’s unfair to your friends, to Commander Dammek and Xefros, to your platoon, to all of the Low Side: that all of them should have suffered so much at the hands of the Empress’s regime, and for her to dismiss them all as a bunch of violent, horny, uncontrollable pests.  And so you clench your fists even harder and shout above the ruckus of the courtroom, “I’m not a High Side sympathizer! The Low Side--I know it’s not perfect, either, but I don’t support the High Side, at all. There are actually, only two types of trolls, in general, I think, and, uh, it’s not just highbloods, or lowbloods.  One of them is the type of troll that acknowledges and accepts that _all of us_ are part of the same species, and the other type is the type of troll that are ignorant enough to put labels on other blood castes!”

 

You pant heavily after your little speech, and at this moment you are suddenly reminded that with Sollux’s brilliant hacking skills, your lowblood friends will probably get access to the High Side broadcasts of your trial and they will hear every single one of your words.  In fact, monitoring the Capitol’s prisoner-of-war trials is not unusual for the Low Side, so many of the Low Side troops--not just your friends or your platoon--will be listening to your words. Perhaps even the Low Side Army General will watch the video of you defending yourself in the courtroom.

 

You wonder how all of them will feel about you implying that all blood castes are equal, because the Low Side is plagued with just as many prejudices as the High Side.  And now that you think about it, those prejudices against highbloods are shockingly similar to what the Empress thinks of the lowbloods: that there are only two types, the murderous and the horny, and that all of them are equally immoral.  

 

You think of Xefros and how convinced he was that you would be able to teach the highbloods a lesson during your trial.  He had a feeling that you would become part of a bigger equation. You think you finally understand what that bigger equation means, even though it probably wasn’t what Xefros was thinking of.  

 

Perhaps, with your words, you can sow the seeds of the idea of equality among trolls, not just to the highbloods but to the lowbloods as well.  You already managed to convince Xefros. Maybe you can convince more people. Maybe your words won’t change the course of this war--maybe the High Side will win and the lowbloods will go back to being slaves, or the Low Side will by some miracle win and the highbloods will be massacred in vengeance for centuries of abuse.  But maybe, just maybe, there is an off chance that your words _will_ change the course of this war, and help achieve the peace you dream of, help create a world where you and Gamzee could really be matesprits with no tyrannical eyes watching.  And even if nothing changes at all, maybe your ideas will be remembered and someone braver, stronger, and more powerful could act upon them later.

 

These all are empowering thoughts, and Rufio grows stronger within you.  But then the Empress suddenly speaks again, her voice soft but simmering with wrath.

 

“Are you calling me ignorant, gutterblood?”

 

You refuse to break eye contact with the fuchsiablood tyrant.  “I’m calling _anyone_ , highblood _or_ lowblood, who labels all lowbloods or highbloods in a certain way, ignorant.  And, uh, if that kind of, discriminatory labelling, is something that you do, Your Majesty, with, um, all due respect, you are actually, kind of ignorant.”  

 

The Empress’s eyes burn with rage.  “ _Why you_ \--”

 

“I’m not trying to insult you, Your Majesty,” you say.  “I only wish, to be, uh, completely honest with you, since I doubt that, uh, people are normally honest, when they talk to you.”

 

You watch the Empress’s chest rises and falls as she pants with fury.  Several times, she seems just about ready to march out of her throne and snap your neck with her own bare hands.  But she reins herself in, and as you watch her stew in anger and wait for her to speak, you try not to fidget. You try to not be completely terrified of her reaction to what you just said, because you are actually proud of what you just said.  

 

It feels like an eternity has passed when the Empress finally opens her mouth to speak again.  Pretending to inspect her manicured fingers, she says, “I am not ignorant, Rufio Nitram. I know very whale what passive-aggressiveness is.”  You stiffen with embarrassment, because that comment hit a little too close to home. Karkat has accused you of passive aggression upwards of a thousand times by now, and all of your other friends have done so at least once, even Aradia.  “And I have also been Empress for longer than you have been alive,” she continues, “so I think I am more qualified to cast judgment about the hemospectrum than you will _ever_ be.  In fact!  I want to show you somefin right now.” Her head snaps sharply to the side as she suddenly addresses the servant to her right.  “Slave! Bring him to me.”

 

“Yes, Mistress,” the servant says, and takes off a pair of heavy goggles that were framing her face.  You hadn’t been paying much attention to the Empress’s two slaves, but now you notice that both of them are wearing the same metal goggles—you recognize them as psionic inhibitors, indicating that both of them are goldbloods.  You can almost hear the way Sollux would grind his teeth at the archaic, cruel devices—

 

Your thoughts are cut short as your entire body is suddenly lifted in a cloud of blue-and-orange psionics, and you are levitated a few feet above the ground, across the front of the courtroom, and—to your utter horror—right in front of the Empress’s throne.  The eyes of the entire courtroom follow you, but for once you don’t care because you’re fucking close enough to the Empress to see the dark pink specks in her irises and your mouth is probably gaping wider than a dead fish and oh gog oh gog you don’t want to look but you can’t not look—

 

She pats her knee.  “Put him in my lap,” she orders her slave.

 

The psionic energy surrounding your body gradually disperses and you are gently, slowly, lowered onto the Empress’s lap.  

 

You nearly fall off of her lap the moment the psionics release you, because you can’t keep yourself balanced without the use of your legs and your hands, manacled as they are, are out of commission at the moment.  However, the Empress promptly catches you, with one hand bracing your back and the other caressing your knees. You hate that you can’t even stay upright without her help. You bite your lip so hard it bleeds, just to keep yourself from thrashing or outright hyperventilating.  

 

The Empress’s body is cold, so cold, and you are reminded of Gamzee’s and Feferi’s cool body temperatures.  But unlike Gamzee and Feferi, the soul that possesses the Empress’s freezing body is just as relentlessly icy, just as hostile.  You stare at her face, only inches from yours, and she is so beautiful and so terrible that your eyelids become just as paralyzed as the useless lower half of your body and you can’t look away, can’t even blink to relieve yourself of the sight.  

 

“Do you sea how easily they obey my command, gutterblood?” the Empress whispers in your ear as she gestures to her goldblood slaves. Her voice is soft and low and you realize that her words are meant only for you; no one else in the room can hear her.  “A highblood would never submit to anyone so mindlessly, but a lowblood would do it because it is in their nature not to think, only to listen and to act. To... _submit_ .  Just as it is my nature to _dominate_.  This is not just my experience speaking; this is nature.  It’s instinct. Why else do I command so easily, why else do they obey so thoughtlessly? There is nothing more powerful than nature, gutterblood; not even me.”

 

The Empress falls silent and you realize that she’s waiting for you to reply.  You begin to shiver violently, because you do not want to have to exercise your vocal chords in such close proximity to the cruel seadwelling tyrant.  You gulp, throat dry as sandpaper, trying to calm yourself down. The Empress seems to sense your discomfort and runs her hand up and down your back, a twisted distortion of what should be a soothing gesture.  Still, she waits patiently for your answer.

 

Finally, you manage to wheeze in a stutter-riddled voice, “U-uh, if lowbloods, really were, uh, a c-completely submissive r-r-race, then how, um.  How could they start a rebellion?”

 

She smiles. “I’m glad you asked.  You sea, among any species there will alwaves be outliers.  Mutations, oddballs, freaks, bluh bluh—I just call them nature’s glubbin’ _mistakes_ .  Just as there will alwaves be that one highblood weakling, there will be those one or two rebellious lowbloods. That’s why culling is so important, but it’s inevitable we miss one or two of those defective glubbers from time to time.  And it really only takes one of those shitblood glubbers to start raisin’ the noise about _disobedience_ and _treason_ , and then all of your kind goes jumpin’ on the bandwagon ‘cause you’re too dumb to know any better.  Your stupid rebellion turns nature’s sacred order upside down. Just think about it: if the shitbloods could’ve stayed put with what we were already giving them--food, shelter, and care--instead of rising up like the _savage_ , _ungrateful_ beasts that you are, couldn’t we have avoided all the unnecessary suffering and death this war has caused?  But regardless--nature has its way of restoring order in the end, which is why the rebellion is goin’ down faster than you can say ‘I surrender’.  Because highbloods are stronger and smarter and it is our nature to dominate you, so we _will_ .   _Crush_ .   _You_.”

 

The Empress’s teeth are bared and her eyes are gleaming when she finishes.  You try to think of something intelligent to reply. “Oh,” you rasp. Your mind races, and if you are honest with yourself, the Empress’s voice is so forceful and full of conviction that you almost want to believe what she’s saying.  But you force yourself to _think_ , because deep down you know that what she’s saying is so, so wrong.  

 

“I, d-definitely agree, uh, that there are biological differences, between highbloods and, uh, lowbloods.  But, I don’t think, um, that t-that makes either b-better than the other? There are, um, various strengths and weaknesses, possessed by, uh, v-various castes, that, that complement each other.”

 

“And what weaknesses do you speak of, gutterblood?  We highbloods--we’re strong, we’re smart, we’re beautiful.  Whereas you lowbloods are weak and ugly, and _stupid_ as mules.  How do these--ah--glaring, differences, if you will, complement each other?”

 

“I r-r-really don’t think, lowbloods are as, uh, stupid, as you think.”

 

“Oh, I don’t _think_ it,” the Empress replies.  “I know it. Science tells us so.  I’m awfully curious about such things, so I funded a research study, once.  Have you heard the term thick-skulled, my dear?”

 

Yes, you have.  It’s one of the many, many derogatory terms highbloods like to call lowbloods.  “Um...yeah?”

 

“Whale, as it turns out, it’s more than just a name.  Studies found that the average rustblood has a skull thickness of 10 millimeters, with the number getting smaller and smaller along the hemospectrum.  The average violetblood’s skull is only 4 millimeters thick! We think it’s because you lowbloods tend to have such big, beautiful horns.” As she says this, she lifts her hand off your knees and fondles the base of your right horn, and you shudder at the flood of sensation invading your head.  “Your skulls are thicker to support their weight. But as a consequence, thicker skulls mean less space for the brain inside of the head, and they also mean slower internal brain activity. Do you get what I’m sayin’, dear boy?” She laughs. “Or maybe all this talk is too difficult for you to understand.”

 

You find yourself thinking about horn size among your friends.  It’s true—you and Aradia, who belong to the two lowest castes, have the largest horns. Sollux, not so much, but he has four of them and you know that Sollux’s horns are smaller than most yellowbloods’.  Karkat’s—well, his are exceptionally small, but everything about Karkat defies almost every rule in the book. Nepeta and Kanaya—

 

Wait, wait, _wait_ .  Why are you even considering this shit?  You have no idea if what the Empress said is true, all that stuff about horns and skulls and intelligence.  But that’s not the fucking point, because even if there is the teeniest ounce of truth in her research study, that was an appallingly casteist thing for her to say!  Besides, now that you’re really thinking about it—what she’s saying can’t be all true! True, you’ve never considered your _self_ smart, but Aradia and Sollux are among the smartest people you know, and Commander Dammek, bronzeblooded like you, may not be flawless, but is most certainly a military genius.  

 

“Uh, the things you s-said, s-sound pretty legitimate, but uh, I’m just not sure if I can, um, wholly believe it…? B-because, I don’t really see how, a few millimeters of, um, b-bone, can make a signficant difference in, uh, troll...smartness?  Some of the, uh, l-lowbloods who I know, are, uh, some of the smartest trolls I know…”

 

The Empress chuckles, deep and sarcastic.  “And how many trolls do you know, buoy? A bunch of shitblood shrimps, and Vriska Serket?  Turn around, take a look.” With a firm grip on your horn she forces your head to turn until you are facing the courtroom audience.  From atop the Empress’s throne, you cannot see any individual faces, so the crowd of highblood spectators looks like a small (and very intimidating) sea.  There are occasional flashes of light coming from the audience--probably reporters taking photographs of the rare sight of a shitblood cradled in the Empress’s lap like a doll.  “ _This_ is just a _fraction_ of all the trolls that _I_ know,” she says.  “And trust me, I adore my citizens like they’re my own wigglers.  I am aware of just how smart and talented they are--we have scientists, inventors, soldiers, fighters--I’m so _proud_ of them.  And yet all of them look at me, the highest blood out of all of them, with fear and adoration in their eyes.  These are trolls who know how to determine the reel value of things, my dear gutterblood--tell me how can I look them in the eye and doubt my inherent superiority?”

 

You don’t have a chance to respond to the horribly narcissistic statement, because the Empress plows on, a gleeful, arrogant look in her eyes.  “They’re smart trolls. They know that no matter how great they are, I’m better--and I could krill all of them without batting an eye. It’s more than just strength and intelligence, though.  You sea, it’s also personality. And even the most confident violetblood can’t beat me in terms of that--as a fuchsiablood, _I_ am the only one who possesses the predisposition to be the ruler of Alternia.  For me, it’s instinctual. I am the only one who can sit on this throne and look down on my subjects, and feel completely at home and _comfortable_ .  Here, I’ll show just how comfortable I am.”  And she removes her hand from your horn and places it on the manacles on your wrists.  She makes a sharp, clenching movement with her fist, and-- _snaps the chain right in half_ .  With a loud, metallic _SNAP_ , the handcuffs fall off your hands, and you gape because _holy shit_.  What kind of monster strength does the Empress possess to accomplish such a feat?  You barely have any time to enjoy your newfound freedom, however, before the Empress takes one of your wrists and guides it up to her chest.  She places your hand on her breast, right over her vascular pump; her body is hard and cold and it feels like you’ve placed your hand on a slab of ice.  

 

Her heartbeat is slow, relaxed, but strong--each thump sends vibrations of electric sensation through the tips of fingers through your body and down your spine, and you’re sure that if your spine wasn’t broken you’d be feeling the aftershocks all the way down in your toes, too.  

 

You try to remove your palm from the very awkward position on the Empress’s chest, but she refuses to let you go, clamping down and trapping your hand against her.  She smirks at you triumphantly as she awaits your answer. Perhaps she feels confident that there is nothing more you could possibly say to refute her casteist claims.   _Prove her wrong_ , Rufio tells you.

 

“Wow, e-exceedingly comfortable, is indeed, very much what you are…Your Majesty,” you begin.  “B-but, uh...wouldn’t you say, uh, m-maybe...that...your exceptional comfortableness, could be, um...due to the f-fact that you’ve been the Empress for a l-long t-time and you’re kind of...used, to...this?”  The Empress opens her mouth to retort, but you quickly continue talking so that you can finish your point. “A-and, uh...fear and adoration, is most certainly, the, uh, w-way, with which your subjects, uh, even the h-highbloods, l-look at you...but, are you sure, that is actually because of your highbloodedness, or is it because, you’re sitting, uh, i-in a, big powerful throne, with a c-crown, and w-wearing, um, lavish clothes…?”

 

The Empress’s smirk is long gone, and you quiver with worry.  She growls, “I really wanna glubbin’ slap you for that one, gutterblood.  But I’ll leave that to the executioner because I don’t wanna get my fins all dirty with your essences.”

 

“I—“

 

“I’ll have you know that I could be walkin’ through the lowblood districts without clothes or the crown on and I’d still get the same glubbin’ treatment universally.”

 

“Uh, well, I sort of meant that, figuratively—“

 

“And if it really is the throne doing all the glubbing,” she plows on through gritted teeth, pointedly dismissing your stuttered protests, “explain why you’re sittin’ here, and you’re wobbling like a _glubbing_ seaweed.  The throne only lends power to those who deserve it, shitblood.”  She leans closer to your ear and hisses, “And it hasn’t given you any, has it?  Your fear is so thick I can smell it, buoy. And I can feel the way your tiny bloodpusher is beating so, so fast.”

 

“Uhhhhh…” you say, your bloodpusher beating yet another five times faster at her acknowledgement.  “Um, well, I, uh, I think that has l-less to do with, my blood c-color, than it has to do w-with the fact that I’m, uh, I’m just, a generally scared, troll, in, uh, general, and uh...the f-fact that you’re, you’re, uh, a r-really terrifying lady.  Uh, I mean that, in the most complimentary way possible?” You voice dissolves into a pathetic squeak at the end. “I-I mean, I’ve been, this scared before, b-but it was because of lowerbloods, instead of you, Your Majesty, and, uh, it is again, s-simply due to my condition of general, afraidness…”  Another lie, because actually, you have never felt more scared than you do at the current moment. But, the Empress doesn’t need to know that. There is a short silence after this,and you being to wonder what the point of this conversation is. The Empress says what she wants to say and hears only what she wants, rendering even your most carefully crafted arguments futile.  It’s fucking exhausting. So you say, “I am n-not really sure, if your intention, is, uh, to get me t-to agree, with you, about c-caste inequality, b-because, um. I believe in my own views, pretty strongly, I guess? I don’t want to be, er, w-wasting, your t-time, because I am a thick-skulled lowblood after all—the, uh, probability, that you’ll change my mind, uh, f-for real, is really, pretty low…”

 

You squeeze your eyes shut after this, because you can barely stand to look at the Empress any longer.  She surprises you, however, by not making any derisive comments. Instead, after a pregnant pause, she muses, “I don’t invite just _any_ shitblood to come sit on my lap, you know.  Actually, not just shitbloods—any troll at glubbin’ all.  Wanna know why you got the privilege?”

 

You wouldn’t call this a privilege at all, but what can you say, really?  Reluctantly, you open your eyes again. “Uh, I...guess?”

 

“Because,” she replies, and to your distress she moves her hand back up to your head and encircles the base of your right horn with her fingers again, “you’re _different_ .  You’re so glubbing different that it’s a gulp of fresh water.  Shore, you’re stubborn, which ain’t so unusual for rust and bronze buoys like yourshellf, but you’re also so non-confrontational that it’s hilarious, but then I also don’t even know what reelly to make of you sometimes!  I see a lot of gutterbloods every day in these trials, sweetheart--they’re either rantin’ and beaching at me like banshees or they’re wailing like wrigglers, crying for mercy that they don’t deserve. And here you are, coming in here in Chahut’s arms—not even having had the glubbin’ grace to cull yourself for your fucked-up legs—and you wreck my blueblood truthtellers like it’s nothing and _oh_ , the things that come out of your mouth, darling!  Never in a million sweeps did I think I’d get to hear a shitblood admitting to pity for a highblood.  Oh, it’s happened before, of course—but I always thought you lowblood shrimp would find it somefin too ‘shameful’, too taboo, to talk about out loud.  Ha, ha! I don’t get if you’re extra crazy or just delusional—but you glubbing know what? You’ve actually hooked my attention and I wanna hear more—I can’t imagine how you survived the Low Side for long, because I can’t sea how your gutterblood friends would tolerate some of the carp that comes out of your mouth.”

 

It’s true—if you had gone around broadcasting your pity for highbloods and your caste equality beliefs back when you were still a soldier, most assuredly Commander Dammek would have had you shot by a firing squad.  But of course, you mostly survived your Low Side days by keeping your mouth shut and not doing anything significant in any way so as not to attract attention. Also, your conviction that highbloods couldn’t be all bad hadn’t really been solidified until you met Gamzee.

 

Inspiration strikes you suddenly.  Aren’t you trying to maintain a neutral stance?  Without much of a plan in mind, you open your mouth and blurt out, “Well, t-that may be because, uh—I was never really part of the Low Side, at all.”

 

The Empress stares at you, a blank look overcoming her face, just like when you told her you were flushed for Vriska.  But this time the seadweller’s face is much closer and you can see the the quizzical, searching look in her eyes as she examines your bronze ones for signs of deception.  You try to steel yourself, but your traitorous eyes feel incredibly watery.

 

But somehow, by some miracle, she pulls away and says, “Normally I’d call bullshit, but when it comes to _you_ I’m inclined to reconsider.  Especially since you call yourself Rufio Nitram.  This definitely requires some further investigation, hmm?  Who are you, reelly?” She leans close until the two of you are nose to nose.  “I still don’t believe you’re reelly Rufio.” Then she clears her throat loudly and addresses the entire courtroom once more.  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve made the decision to proceed with Rufio Nitram’s trial,” she announces, jerking your horn roughly, and the highbloods respond with a slew of cheers.  “Empress is proud because you all have been so good and patient, so I’ll provide a bit of explanation for all this hold-up. You sea, Rufio Nitram was a shitblood outlaw who lived several hundred sweeps ago.”  Immediately, the crowd begins to stir with curses to Rufio’s name, but you aren’t really paying attention to them. Is this true? Was Rufio...a real troll? “I won’t lie,” she continues, “shitblood though he was, he reelly did catch us by surprise with his incredible talent.  You sea, he started a coup d’etat and was the only lowblood troll ever to come _close_ to assassinating an Empress.  But in the end, he failed—but only because of shitty fortune.  His matesprit—a blueblood, do y’all sea the glubbing irony here?—betrayed him and sold him out to us, and Rufio died at our feet like the glubbing barkbeast that he was.  

 

“After Rufio’s demise, you can imagine that paranoia was at high tide amongst the highbloods—and of course, the gutterbloods didn’t wanna believe their hero was dead, dead, dead.  So there was a time when a whole bunch of them glubbers thought it would be _funny_ —ha ha ha—“ she laughs sarcastically—“to fuck with our thinkpans a little bit, cause panic and hysteria by claiming to be the dangerous, almighty Rufio—but all of them were glubbin’ posers--fake, fake, fake.  And _then_ , for quite a few sweeps after _that_ , a bunch of ‘em stepped forward and claimed to be his descendant, even though Rufio never had a kismesis on record.  And of course, none of those posers turned out to be his descendant either, because Rufio has a very distinct mutation that the others all...lacked.  

 

“Eventually, though, Rufio ended up just where he belonged—in a parody of legend, and long forgotten.  Until today, that is. The lowbloods must reelly be desperate, wouldn’t you say? If they’re sending a coddamn cripple to pose as their centuries-old loser hero.”

 

The crowd guffaws and shouts their wholehearted agreement on the matter, but you sit there on the Empress’s lap, completely dumbfounded.  Because you are indeed not Rufio Nitram—but for all of your sweeps, Rufio had been nothing more than the stuff of your imagination. You’d call it a miraculous coincidence, that a lowblood renegade hero from the past should share your imaginary hero’s name, if not for the fact that the real Rufio in Alternian history also shares _your_ last name.  Could it be...that _you_ actually _are_ Rufio’s descendant?   Now, you, too, are asking yourself the question: _Who are you really?_ Your bloodpusher thunders as you wonder about your identity, and to your ears, it’s rhythmic knell is even louder than the noisy highbloods below.

 

And what was the distinct mutation that Rufio Nitram possessed?  Heightened ability to commune?

 

“Whale, I believe that there is no mystery the Imperial Court can’t unravel,” the Empress boasts.  “So to that, I say: _let the trial_ finally _begin!”_

 

On queue, your hear the loud, repeated banging of a gavel.  “This court will come to order!” His Honor, the legislacerator, booms over the ruckus of the spectators.  

 

You fidget in panic on the Empress’s lap as the highbloods begin to settle down.  “U-uh, Your Majesty, w-wouldn’t it be m-more appropriate, if I stood--er, well, sat--um, down there, l-like an, um, a proper, defendant?  Instead of, well--” you gesture lamely--”on, uh, t-top of you?” Immediately, you cringe, because you couldn’t have worded that in a worse fashion.  

 

The Empress chuckles in response.  “It ain’t inappropriate if I don’t say so, and guess glubbin’ what?  I don’t. I like making you uncomfortable, sweetheart, so you’re stayin’ right here.  Now shut up.”

 

“Defendant,” the legislacerator’s voice says cuttingly.  “For the purpose of the trial records, restate your name and age.”

 

You are sitting in the Empress’s throne and all the eyes of Alternia are upon you.  Willing your voice not to crack, you announce, as steadily and confidently as you are able, “My name is Rufio Nitram, and I’m, uh, nine sweeps, old.”

 

“The defendant’s _alleged_ name shall be assumed to be Rufio Nitram.  Mr. Nitram, the Imperial Court is an institution that promotes and enforces utmost integrity.  Do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, or face the consequences?”

 

You take just a moment to wonder what kind of consequences you will be forced to face today.  “I swear,” you lie.

 

There is a short silence.  “Very well,” His Honor says.  “The Alternian Empire seeks convictions of six counts of crime committed by the defendant, Rufio Nitram.  In the first part of proceedings, Mr. Nitram will be given the opportunity to speak in his own defense in regard to the charges aforementioned.   In the latter leg of proceedings, the Imperial Court shall make a decision on the sentence of the defendant, Mr. Nitram, should he be found guilty of one or more of the charges.  

 

“Should Her Majesty the Empress find it fit during the course of this trial to make changes to the charges, verdict, or sentencing, or to alter proceedings in any way, there shall be no contest from the defendant or the court.  Your Majesty, do we have your permission to continue with the proceedings?”

 

“Mm-hmm,” the Empress replies.

 

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”  The legislacerator clears his throat.  “We will begin with the first charge: Unlawful Abandonment.  Mr. Nitram, how do you plead?”

 

“Uh, guilty, Your Honor,” you reply quickly.  There is no reason to protest this particular charge.  

 

The legislacerator takes a moment to reply.  Perhaps he is surprised that you conceded so quickly.  “The defendant, Rufio Nitram, is hereby found guilty of one count of Unlawful Abandonment.”  He strikes his gavel once. “Moving on--”

 

“W-wait!” you cry out.  “Can I, um. C-can, I, make, uh, a comment?  Your Honor?”

 

“This charge has already been closed--”

 

“Overruled,” the Empress cuts in smoothly.  “Let him say his whatever comment.”

 

“Of course, Your Majesty.  Mr. Nitram, please make your—comment.”

 

Your cheeks flush—you wonder why the Empress helped you out, but you decide not to ponder.  “Even if I, uh, h-hadn’t left, back then, I wouldn’t have been good for hard l-labor, anyway.”

 

“No duh,” the Empress snorts.  “You would’ve been culled. You can’t even walk!”

 

“I wasn’t always, uh, unable to walk,” you protest.  “And my other talents would’ve been wasted, uh, if I had been culled, or at least, uh, allowed to participate, in a profession of my own choice.”

 

Murmurs of incredulity permeate the crowd, and you hope that at least some of the spectators are listening, really listening, to what you’re saying.  Wouldn’t society be more productive if everyone had a say about how they had to work? You know that someone is still going to have to do the hard labor, but the main problem in the current Alternia is that the lowbloods are _forced_ to do it, involuntarily.

 

“And what other talents do you have?” the Empress asks.  “What would you have wanted to do with your sad, gutterblood life?”

 

“Uh…”  Why the fuck is she being so nosy?  “I don’t know, I, uh, the time, was never optimal, for me to, uh, consider my career options,” you say.  “But my talents are…” Shit. You should considered that you don’t really have any talents before you said that.  Roleplaying wouldn’t suffice as an answer (obviously), and Nepeta was way better at it than you ever were, anyway.  “W-well, I am, good with animals, I guess…”

 

“A lot of bronzebloods are good with animals,” the Empress retorts.

 

“Well, yeah, but, I’m like, uh, _really_ good with them,” you insist, and for some reason you can’t resist injecting a little pride into your tone.  “I have a really wide range, and, uh, there isn’t any beast, that can resist, my communion.”

 

And the Empress steers you by the horn and forces you to look at her.  “Reelly,” she asks, not really a question.

 

“Really,” you confirm, and you wonder if perhaps the real Rufio Nitram had sick communion powers too.  

 

A truly awkward silence descends that is only broken when the legislacerator clears his throat again.  “Mr. Nitram, that was irrelevant to the trial. If you have any complaints to make about the assigned duties of your caste, you should appeal to the Department of Labor and Conscription.”  Bullshit. Everyone knows that lowbloods aren’t allowed to independently appeal to the government.

 

“I was just, uh, making a comment, Your Honor.”

 

“Well, refrain from making any more irrelevant ‘comments’ and wasting our time,” he bites back rather harshly.  “You are being tried as a criminal of war. This is very serious.”

 

“Sorry,” you simper.

 

He ignores your apology.  “Moving on,” he says. “Charge number two: Membership in Criminal Organizations.  Mr. Nitram, how do you plead?”

 

You can feel the Empress shifting with interest underneath your body, and because your stupid legs won’t support you, you are forced to lean even further against her. Not allowing yourself to get too distracted, you take a deep breath, and say, “Not guilty.”

 

There are sounds of incredulity and protest in the audience, and the legislacerator has to bang his gavel multiple times to shut them up.  “Silence!” he orders. “Mr. Nitram, all evidence suggests that you were captured from a Low Side platoon. Are you denying your involvement with them despite the glaring evidence?”

 

“Yes—no—er,” you struggle for words.  “I guess, I would consider myself their ally, rather, um, than a member—“

 

“Were you or were you _not_ part of the Low Side, Mr. Nitram?  It’s a simple question.”

 

“I was technically a part of them,” you say, “but my loyalties lie, um, elsewhere.  Not with the High Side!” you hastily interject. “I’m not, uh, a sympathizer. But I’m a member of another group, that’s separate from the Low Side!”  

 

“...There are _two_ lowblood armies?”

 

“No,” you reply firmly.  “We’re not an army, and we have lowbloods _and_ highbloods on our side.”

 

“This is the first time I have heard of such a ridiculous notion,” the legislacerator says.  “What kind of organization could benefit from having both lowbloods and highbloods mixed together?”

 

“You’d be surprised, uh, how well, we can work together, if we move past our differences, which are, uh, not really that many.”  You recall, with painful fondness, your rapport with Gamzee, Feferi, and even the blind tealblood Terezi. “We, uh, all of us, well, we support the Low Side, to the extent where we believe the current regime should be, um, o-overthrown.”  Oh shit, you did not mean to sound so extreme. Too late to take it back now. “But, uh, we don’t support how the Low Side, uh, kind of wants to turn the hemospectrum upside-down and oppress the highbloods, instead? We, uh, we just want harmony, among everybody.  Or at least, um, if there is a hierarchy, it should be determined by, uh, things that are, meritable, maybe, like, talent, and moral values—not blood…”

 

 _High Side, Low Side, are you all listening?_ you wonder.  And even though this “organization” of yours is completely make-believe, you suddenly yearn and ache for it to be real, and you wonder why trolls have such a hard time getting along in real life.

 

The Empress abruptly removes her hand from your horn.  Instead, she grabs your left hand and wraps your index finger in her own fingers and—

 

_SNAP_

 

Breaks it.

 

You’d known it was coming.  You hadn’t had any illusions that you might get through this trial unhurt.  But it still catches you by surprise. “ _Aaaaargh_ !” you howl, your vision blurring from tears and agony. Even though a broken finger seems like a minor injury, one that other trolls could probably tolerate with nothing more than the gritting of teeth, you don’t have so much mettle and your entire being is consumed with the fiery, throbbing _pain_ radiating from your finger.  You would think that you, having broken a spine before, would be able to handle a measly finger, but ohhh, this still just hurts _so much_.

 

“That’s for wanting to overthrow _my_ regime,” she hisses.  You want to pull your hand away from her fatal grasp and nurse your already-swollen finger, but the Empress doesn’t let go of you.  Instead, she wraps her hand around your middle finger, and you don’t have any illusions about what her gentle touch could actually do to you.  “Now tell me more about this little organization of yours.”

 

“W-w-what do you want t-to know,” you gasp.  You’re going to have to make up answers as you go, and through your tears you pray that you can keep a clear mind.

 

“Whale, for one, how many of you are in this—treasonous little club?”

 

“I—I don’t know—“

 

She doesn’t give you time to even breathe.  With a quick flick of her nimble fingers there is another sickening _snap.  “_ I could go on like this aaaaall day,” she singsongs, running her fingernails across your index and middle fingers; the pain is like a shock of electricity.  “Once we’re through with all ten of your fingers we can move on to your ribs.”

 

“Nnnmph,” you moan, sinking your teeth into your lower lip, causing saliva and blood trickle down your chin.  

 

“Whale?” the Empress probes.

 

It takes you a moment to even remember what her question was.  “A hundred, maybe, I think,” you pant breathlessly. “N-n-not that many…”

 

“And you said you’re not an army...so what exactly is it that you do?”

 

“W-we just want, to, uh, spread our ideology, and m-maybe one day when we’re strong enough, establish our own, um, territory, where the hemospectrum doesn’t exist…?”

 

“Hmm,” she muses.  “And what is the name of your...little club?”

 

“We d-d-don’t have an official name—“ you start, but when you feel her hand start to wrap around your ring finger you break out into a panicked shout.  “UHHH PLEASE DON’T—we’re called the Cavalreapers,” you blurt out, making the name up on the spot.

 

“I understand your eagerness to tell us, but—no need to shout, dear buoy,” the Empress says, and you can practically _hear_ her sadistic smile.  “And where can we find more of you?”

 

“Uh, we’re spread, all over the place!  A lot of the lowbloods are in the Low Side Army, some of the highbloods live in, um, other cities.”

 

“But for such a whale-organized group with such whale-developed ideas—you must have a centralized base of operations somewhere, somewhere the leaders can convene and come up with your slimy plans and ideology?  Where you can start your new...empire someday?” the Empress insists.

 

“I don’t know where the headquarters are—“

 

_Crack_

 

“I think it’s in the Prospit Desert!” you sob, three fingers now broken.  You wonder if the Empress is aware of just how acutely ineffective her torture is—she isn’t persuading you to tell the truth at all, just persuading you to come up with more random baloney to appease her and stop the pain.  

 

Judging by how seriously she takes your answer, however, she isn’t aware of it at all.  “The Prospit Desert? That place is uninhabitable!”

 

It’s true: the Prospit Desert is known for its long, scorching days, for terrifying wild desert beasts, and death in general.  The Low Side, talented as it is for surviving in rough wilderness, has mostly avoided the desert. It’s mostly why you chose the place, because if the Empress sends anyone there to search for the imaginary Cavalreapers, they’d most likely find nothing more than barren land and no one would be hurt or captured.  “I don’t know, I’ve never been there!” you wail. “I’ve only heard about it, they make it work somehow!”

 

The silence that follows is deafening, punctuated only by your muted sobs and sniffles (which garner you no sympathy from anyone).  Finally, the Empress releases your fingers and returns to caressing your horn. Another bastardization of a comforting gesture. You tenderly nurse your fingers on your lap, keenly wishing that if you had to be sitting in any fuchsiablood’s lap, it were Feferi’s and not the Empress’s.  “Let it go on record that a search party will be sent to the Prospit Desert,” the Empress announces, pretty fucking predictably. “And from now on the Cavalreapers are considered a criminal organization—membership is punishable by death.”

 

There is no audible reaction from the audience—perhaps, you think, they are too stunned by your revelations.  You hope against hope that some of them at least considered what you said. Even though the Cavalreapers don’t exist in real life, perhaps _believing_ that they do will give a vote of confidence to those who were doubtful about the highbloods and lowbloods working together.

 

Then the legislacerator says, “Rufio Nitram, do you still plead not guilty to Membership in Criminal Organizations?”

 

“N-no—I mean, I plead guilty!” you cry desperately, and defeatedly.  

 

The gavel bangs.  “The defendant, Rufioh Nitram, is hereby found guilty of two counts of Membership in Criminal Organizations, for his affiliation with the Low Side Army and the Cavalreapers.”  

 

The audience continues to stew in contemplative silence; if your fingers hadn’t just been snapped in half you might be internally celebrating the fact that you managed to pull off such a massive feat of deception.  Now, you just want to hurry on with the trial and get it over with.

 

“Moving on: Charge number three.  War crimes. Mr. Nitram, how do you plead?

 

You remember the battle: the one where you were shot and paralyzed and captured and your life changed forever.  How you held a gun in your hands, finger poised on the trigger, but were still unable to move your finger that measly centimeter and end the life of an enemy. “Not guilty,” you gasp, tears of frustration leaking out of your eyes, “Not guilty, Your Honor!”

 

“Mr. Nitram, need I remind you what _war crimes_ consist of?” the legislacerator interrogates you, sounding completely skeptical.  

 

“N-no, I, uh, know what war crimes are.  I didn’t, I didnt…”

 

“They include the harming, maiming, or murder of highblood soldiers and/or civilians, and the destruction of private and/or state-owned property—“ he recites, but you don’t let him finish.  

 

“I said I know what they are!  I didn’t do any of that, I swear, I promise, I didn’t!  It’s—uh—it’s against my beliefs to hurt anyone—anything—“

 

“Do. Not. Interrupt. Me,” the legislacerator growls, and you get the feeling that he’s starting to get frustrated with this entire trial.  Perhaps because you’re not being psychically influenced by bluebloods and that makes you hard to predict? Or maybe because the Empress keeps interrupting his proceedings, and since he can’t take it out on her he’s taking it out on you.  You don’t know. “I’ll give you one last opportunity to plead differently before I charge you for contempt of court. You expect me to believe that an ex-soldier and revolutionary such as yourself has never committed a _war_ crime while fighting in a _war_?”

 

You splutter pathetically.  “Y-y-yes,” you choke out, “y-you don’t understand...we were an amateur platoon...espionage! That’s, uh, mainly what we did, n-n-not combat...and I got hurt at my first battle, that’s why, I c-can’t walk, but I—I!  I never even fired a shot—I swear, I swear…”

 

You’re rambling, losing the tiny scraps of control you still had.  Unforgivingly, the legislacerator replies, “Based on statistical evidence of lowblood behavior, the probability that you ‘never even fired a shot’, as you claim, are extremely low.  Guilty until proven innocent, Mr. Nitram.”

 

Feeble protests die at your lips, and new tears begin to pool at the bottom of your eyes.  You don’t know why you’re so desperate to defend yourself against this particular charge—perhaps because you know you wouldn’t ever hurt anybody, you _couldn’t_ ever hurt anybody…

 

But of course, the Empress comes to your rescue, and you barely have the energy to be surprised anymore.  “Overruled,” she says smoothly. “Rufio is cleared of all charges related to war crimes.” She rubs your horn lovingly.  “Because he’s a good buoy, right? He’s given us so much invaluable information today! Right?” The crowd finally stirs from its attentive silence and begins murmuring in agreement to the fuchsiablood monarch.  “I trust him. So if he says he never fired a shot then I won’t have him charged for a crime that he didn’t do. That isn’t fair and Alternia is a _fair_ place.  Besides, the little shrimp has a lot more to pay up for, hasn’t he?”  She digs suddenly digs her nails into the part of your scalp near the base of your horn, making you flinch.  This garners a much more enthusiastic response from the audience.

 

“Very well, Your Majesty,” the legislacerator grumbles glumly.  He bangs his gavel. “Rufio Nitram is hence found not guilty of any war crimes and is cleared of all related charges.”  Despite everything, you feel a pang of victory.

 

“Now,” the Empress says, barely skipping a beat, and sounding excited, “I wanna hear all about the fourth charge.”

 

 _What’s the fourth charge?_ you begin to wonder, but then the legislacerator answers for you and _of fucking course_ the Empress is excited.  

 

“The fourth charge: Inappropriate Relations With A Highblood. Mr. Nitram, how do you plead?”

 

You remain silent for a long time, gathering the last bit of your composure to think, hard, about exactly how you should answer this question.  You refuse to drag Gamzee into this, and you already mentioned Vriska…

 

The legislacerator loses patience with your silence and barks, “Nitram, do I need to repeat myself?”

 

“N-no, Your Honor,” you answer.  “I--um...not guilty.”

 

“Not guilty?  Did you not mention your flushed advances on one...Vriska Serket?” he interrogates.  “Describe in detail your relationship to Ms. Serket, please.”

 

“There’s, uh, not much, to it...she was the one who, p-paralyzed me, so I started out hating her at first…”  Your voice grows a little hoarse as you make a trip down memory lane, and you don’t bother clearing your throat.  You never hated Vriska, even after what she did to you and all of the taunting that came along with it. You could tell that that was just genuinely her personality.  “But then we had a few conversations, and uh...I guess I, fell in love with her, s-s-sassiness?” The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, but you plow on. “She’s just, such a strong, um, troll, and I really look up to her, strongness--er, strength, I guess.  Confidence. Yeah, her confidence.” You’re surprised by how genuine your sentiments are, because you don’t love Vriska for her confidence, not even remotely, but yeah, you do admire her for it. Envy her, even. You wish you had confidence like hers.

 

“Did you ever fill a pail with Ms. Serket?” is the legislacerator’s next question, bluntly asked.

 

You have to double-take before you are capable of answering.  “W-w-what? No--of course I didn’t--why would I--”

 

“But you said you’re flushed for her.  Why are you contradicting yourself?”

 

..Contradicting yourself?  What kind of fucked logic is this?  “Just because I’m, f-flushed for her, doesn’t mean I--filled a bucket with her!” you cry in disbelief.  

 

“Lowbloods have been statistically found to be more likely to attempt to violate foreign objects and individuals,” the legislacerator replies, before adding, much more crassly, “we’ve found you’ll take the most extreme of measures to _impale_ anything that moves.  Often at the expense of highbloods.”

 

You have to wonder where the Empire is getting all their “statistical” information from.  “Then I, uh, insist, in a gentle but as firm a way, as, uh, possible, that I, um, I definitely fall in the statistical minority.  Besides, uh, how could I have, er, ‘impaled’--as you put it--anything that, uh, moves, when I can barely move, myself?”

 

The legislacerator falls silent, because he can’t really argue that one, can he?  You know he’s trying to make it seem like you assaulted a highblood against the highblood’s will, but any highblood would hate if one of their own was somehow held down and raped by a _paraplegic_.  

 

So finally, he finds a way to continue the conversation.  “Mr. Nitram, did you in any way attempt to _coerce_ Ms. Serket to fill a bucket with you?”

 

“No!”

 

“Perhaps I should word this differently.  Did Ms. _Serket_ fill a pail with _you_?”

 

And if she had, she would go unpunished for it anyway, wouldn’t she?  You are happy that you’re telling the truth when you say, “Absolutely not—we never, uh, even touched, Your Honor.”

 

“You said you were paralyzed, yes?”

 

“Um...yeah?”

 

“Are you even still capable of filling a pail?”

 

You cheeks bloom to their full copper as several members of the audience laugh at you.  “I...don’t k-know,” you answer, your head bowed. You barely ever touched your bulge before the paralysis, and you haven’t done so even once since.  It most assuredly unfurled from its hiding spot when Chahut got off on...fingering you, but can your traitorous organ do any more than that?

 

“What kind of conversations did you have with Ms. Serket?”

 

“Um…”   _She tormented me and I didn’t respond in any significant way,_ you think to yourself.  “Not, uh, anything, important, I think...uh, she tried interrogating me for information, at first, but like I mentioned, her mind control only worked on me, for a short while…?  After that she just...uh, made fun of me or, uh, yelled, at me…”

 

“Did Ms. Serket have any knowledge about your flushed crush?”

 

“Er...y-yeah, yes she did.”

“So you harassed her about your inappropriate affections?”

 

“No, I didn’t!  I, uh, I told her?  Confessed, I guess?”  Your internal cringing is almost unbearable.  “She, uh, laughed in my face so I didn’t, say anything else after that, a-and I kinda expected it anyway.”  

 

“Did—“ the legislacerator begins, but he is interrupted when the Empress shifts beneath you with interest.

 

“There’s something I don’t understand, Rufio,” she drawls.  “Your interest in our resident spider girl—there’s something fishy about it.  She paralyzed you, she talked shit to you, whatever—all that I can glubbin’ believe.  But Vriska is a strong troll, you said so yourself. What’s there to pity?”

 

If the question had been about Gamzee, you could probably prattle on all day and night about the purpleblood, from his pitiably fragile mental state to the delicate curves of his horns.  It’s hard to come up with a reason of why one would pity Vriska. She doesn’t make it easy. “I do love Vriska, because she’s strong,” you finally settle for saying. “I know she’ll never, uh, l-love me back, because falling for a lowblood cripple like me would probably, uh, ruin her life.  And I like that about her, that she would never sacrifice herself, or, uh, anything, I guess, for anyone, because she loves herself the most. But I pity her because—even being a highblood and all that, she’s, uh...still kind of a slave, to the hemospectrum. Of course she would probably, n-not want to be my matesprit in any situation, but, it kinda, s-sucks, that it’s a superficial r-reason like blood color, that’s holding her back right now.  But maybe if I was a more awesome troll, with no crippled, uh, appendages, she would like me back, and then that would be really sad, not just for me but for her too.” You stop, but no one seems to be able to come up with anything to say. You clear your throat and add, “I just, h-h-hate, that I don’t know whether Vriska hates me because I’m a lowblood or because I’m _me_.”

 

“Hmm,” the Empress muses, but she doesn’t say anything further, as if she couldn’t come up with an appropriate comeback.  “Did Ms. Serket know about the Cavalreapers?” she then asks.

 

“No,” you quickly answer.  “She would have been, a great Cavalreaper, I think, but, uh, I, never told her about them, because I, uh, didn’t want to put her in danger and uh, it’s not like she would have ever joined us, anyway.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

“She, uh, she was confident about a High Side victory, for this, um, war, so...I don’t think she would have joined the, uh, ‘losing side’...”

 

“So Ms. Serket wouldn’t have joined the Cavalreapers, not out of loyalty to the High Side?” And suddenly the Empress’s voice darkens significantly.  “She would have joined a shitblood campaign if it were on the ‘winning side’?”

 

You try to swallow, but your throat has suddenly turned to brittle parchment.  

 

“My darling boy, I have some good news for ya,” the Empress continues.  “I have this feeling Vriska Serket liked you more than she let on. You sea, it was never an uncommon occurrence for the beach to be sleepin’ with gutterbloods and then throwin’ them awave, but the fact that she spent all that time with you...and never made a move.  Shore, it’s possible that she ain’t attracted to cripples, but I don’t believe it. Knowing her, she shoulda felt possessive of you considering she paralyzed you. How’d it happen, anywave?”

 

“Uh, she shot me--”

 

“Okay, so she shot you.  But she let you stay alive?  And after all that trouble, she finds out that her mind control doesn’t work on you and she still thinks it’s okay not to krill you or file a report about you back to the Capitol.”

 

This is not the direction you intended to bring the conversation at all.  You have no idea how to salvage the situation, and you have no time to do so before the Empress declares in a loud voice.  “I’ve heard enough to understand now. Vriska Serket must die.”

 

What.

 

WHAT.

 

_WHAT?_

 

“A missive should be sent to Captain Eridan Ampora immediately,” she announces, “Vriska Serket shell be transported back to the Capitol to await execution.”

 

The audience murmurs with fear; it’s not often that a High Side soldier gets in trouble for anything, and it’s unprecedented for one to be sentenced to _execution_ during a _shitblood’s_ trial.

 

“Why?” you shout, forgetting all of your pain and fear and nervousness, all of it replaced by sheer panic at the Empress’s newest order.

 

“Consider it your punishment for spreading your sick, sick ideas about inter-caste pity,” the Empress replies coolly.  “I can tell that hurting Vriska would hurt you much more than anything I could do to you. You sea, only hatred and subservience can exist between a highblood and lowblood if our Empire is to be kept safe.  Pity triggers chemical imbalances in the thinkpan that result in rebellious thoughts. You and Vriska are only the best of examples.”

 

The Empress’s explanations make absolutely no sense to you.  “But, but--Vriska never did anything wrong!”

 

“Sometimes, a troll with potential must be stopped from committing wrongdoing before they have even done it.  Besides, I think you underestimate little Ms. Serket’s misdemeanors. Troublesome little wiggler she was, ran into the law multiple times before she decided the Army was the place for her.  But she was alwaves whale-aware that her psychic powers outweighed the costs of her petty crimes--because you’re right, Vriska is very, _very_ powerful.  But now, if she can’t even keep a shitblood like you in check, what use is she?”  

 

“But Ardata couldn’t either--”

 

“But Ardata is only _almost_ as powerful as Vriska,” the Empress says, quoting what you had said earlier.  “Besides, I can’t keep a troll with questionable loyalties in my Army. I think you made it quite clear, Rufio Nitram, that Vriska would put herself ahead of anyone else.  Mentalities like that could ea-sea-ly cost the High Side the entire glubbin’ war!”

 

“But--but--” you continue to protest, your mind void of rational thought.  “ _You can’t!_ ”

 

“You’ll be disappointed to find out that I _can_ ,” she says.  “You, on the other hand, already chose to spare one blueblood today.  We have no room for another. Now shut the shell up. I don’t have time for your whining.”

 

“No!” you wail, and thoughtlessly, you make to grab the Empress’s shoulders in a pleading gesture.  Your broken fingers collide with her arm and you yell in surprise and pain, and in an instant she forces both your wrists together, restraining you in a tight, painful grip.  It hurts, but your bloodpusher hurts more. It hurts like it has just been frozen into ice and then shattered apart.

 

You cannot believe what you just did.  So concerned were you with keeping Gamzee safe, with avoiding mentioning his name throughout the course of the trial, that you failed to remember that he was not the only one in danger.  And now, because of your big, fat, lying mouth, Vriska is going to die.

 

Powerful, proud Vriska was never nice to you, but she saved your life, and this is how you repay her.

 

What were you thinking?  You thought that because you were being put to trial, you were some big-shot champion for all trolls.  You thought that you could be a hero like Rufio. And now, it is all your fault that Vriska is being put to death.  She will probably never forgive you. You can’t forgive yourself. In fact, you hate yourself. You hate yourself for ever thinking that you had the power to change anything in Alternia’s oppressive system.  You hate yourself for what you did to Vriska. And you hate yourself for feeling the teeniest bit of relief--that even though Vriska has to suffer, Gamzee (so far) still remains unharmed.

 

All the confidence you had built before and during the trial drains out of you, leaving your reserves more depleted than they had ever been before.  You are defeated, you are distraught; this is even worse than when Gamzee told you were never going to use your legs ever again.

 

“I’ll let you sea her one more time before she dies,” the Empress says more gently.  “In fact, if we sentence you to death as whale, maybe the two of you can die together.  I do appreciate an old-fashioned romance. Perhaps we’ll sew your tongues and lips together and sea which one of you starves to death first.  Oh, and--Rufio Nitram is found guilty of Inappropriate Relations with a Highblood,” she finishes, and somewhere below the legislacerator bangs his gavel.  

 

→ BE FEFERI PEIXES

 

It’s a little sad, yes, to know what’s going to happen to Vriska, even though she’s a bitch, but it’s even sadder to watch the utterly broken, lost look on Tavros’s face.  He looks so destroyed; other trolls would find it vindicating, for the troll who paralyzed and captured them to be sentenced to death. But Tavros is gentle and kind, and even though you’re pretty sure he has no feelings for Vriska--at least, not the flushed kind--it’s not surprising that her fate would upset him so much.  

 

At that moment, you wish that Tavros were a lesser troll, less gentle, less kind, so that this wouldn’t be hurting him so much.

 

You have also never hated your fellow highbloods as much as you do now.  The Empress--you knew she was evil (even though you still managed to be surprised by her capacity for cruelty)-- but how could everyone else be watching this trial without having their bloodpusher torn to shreds in the process?  How could they treat this as _entertainment_?

 

You’re sitting next to a group of indigobloods in the second row from the front; you arrived early in the evening to score a good seat (and fortunately, you’ve managed to avoid Trizza, who you noticed sitting several rows behind you), and you’ve watched all five of the trials that preceded Tavros’s.  It’s almost enough to make you lose all faith in trollkind.

 

Almost.  Because someone’s still coming to save Tavros.  Right?

 

_Where the shell is Gamzee?_

 

You chew your lip for the hundredth time.  You have so much pent-up rage, frustration, and worry in your gut that you would really prefer to throttle something instead, but you can’t afford to make a scene now.  You know that Gamzee’s probably on his way. His hovercraft only just arrived today. You’d hoped that he would be able to get here before Tavros’s trial started, but when he failed to arrive even after Tavros was brought into the room, you remained hopeful that he would get here sometime during the middle of the trial.  

 

Interrupting your thoughts is the legislacerator’s damn voice: “Charge number five: Inappropriate Relations With A Highblood Lusus.  Mr. Nitram, how do you plead?”

 

You decide that if Gamzee doesn’t show up by the time all six charges have been presented, you’ll take matters into your own hands.  You haven’t been treating this trial as entertainment, haven’t been laughing or mocking, but you’ll end up just as guilty as everyone else if you sit here and do nothing.

 

“Guilty,” Tavros mutters without looking up from his lap, sounding so utterly small.  You were so proud of how he conducted himself throughout the trial before, even though you couldn’t understand half the things he was saying about Cavalreapers and about his name being Rufio.  He was scared, but he had pride and dignity still, and you could tell he was trying to say very important things, even as the Empress abused and hurt him.

 

He sounds stripped of all that now.

 

Hastily, you push up your goggles and wipe away your tears, before steeling yourself and pushing them back down.

 

“Of all the ludicrous things you have said today, you admit to this so easily?” the legislacerator questions.  “Could you elaborate on the nature of your crime, please? We all are curious.”

 

You see Tavros’s lips moving, but he speaks too softly for you to hear any of what he’s saying.  The Empress, however, seems to have heard him, and you watch as her expression falls completely and she stiffens.  

 

“Could you elaborate on the nature of your crime _clearly and concisely_ ,” the legislacerator repeats, by then there is a shuffle and a bang.  The Empress has abruptly gotten to her feet, and you wince as Tavros tumbles to the floor and lands awkwardly on his skewed legs.  

 

“LIAR!” the Empress screams, “Don’t think you can fool me again, Rufio!”

 

The courtroom erupts into confused murmurs.  What did Tavros—or Rufio, you guess—say to trigger such a reaction?

 

“I’m not lying!” Tavros screams, completely breaking down and crying.  “I was being ra—I was in trouble and Captain Ampora’s lusus was the closest animal nearby!”

 

“Communing with lusii isn’t _possible_!” the Empress screams back.  “Rufio Nitram was the only one who could do it, in the whole glubbin’ history of trollkind!”

 

And Tavros’s eyes widen as he stares up at the Empress with teary eyes, and the Empress stares back at him with realization settling in her face.  “Oh cod,” she breathes. “Is it reelly—“

 

“I swear I’m not lying,” Tavros says quietly.  “I already said that my powers are, uh, really strong.”

 

“So that’s what Ampora meant.  Boy, how many times have you pupated?”

 

Tavros seems confused by the question.  “Three?”

 

Without warning, the Empress reaches down and rips Tavros’s shirt open, her sharp nails grazing his chest as she does so.  He lets out a cry of surprise and fear as she tears it apart completely and throws the tattered rag to the ground. Then she grabs him by the arm and twists him around, staring long and hard at his back.  You can see Tavros shivering from cold and humiliation at being exposed. You can’t imagine he’d want anyone to see the scarring on his back and the disrupted curve of his spine that marks his handicap, but you somehow get the feeling that that’s not what the Empress is looking at. You, having seen Tavros’s back hundreds of times, can’t imagine what she’s looking for, though.  

 

“I’ve changed my mind,” the Empress says in a cold, unreadable voice, after a long moment, and she begins dragging Tavros back down to the lower level of the courtroom, back to the blood-soaked carpet where the subjugglator bitch is still standing.  “Forget Vriska Serket. I’m not letting you live a second nearer to your fourth pupation.”

 

 _Fourth pupation?_ You think.  Highbloods such as yourself pupate four times, but lowbloods normally only pupate thrice.  Only in rare cases is there a fourth time, and it’s usually because of some mutation that such should occur--

 

And the Empress makes a beckoning gesture towards Marvus Xoloto, the courtroom executioner, and this time the man is holding a large, bloodstained butcher knife.  Tavros’s shoulders are shaking and his bull-horned head is bowed in defeat as he lies crumpled on the floor at the Empress’s and the Maenad bitch’s feet. Your mind is blank as you watch the executioner move, step by step, closer and closer to Tavros.

 

And then you’re standing up and running to the front of the courtroom before you realize what you’re doing, running until you’ve pushed past the front row and are standing right between Xoloto’s butcher knife and Tavros, your arms flailing wildly above your head.

 

“WAIT!” you scream, and your voice sounds so scratchy and insane that you barely recognize yourself.  “YOU CAN’T KRILL HIM!”

 

“Ms. Peixes!” the Empress shouts, glaring at you coldly, and you restrain yourself from throwing yourself at her and punching her face.  Not now, not when she’s standing above Tavros and could kill him in an instant. Besides, you saw what she did to Tavros’s fingers; you wouldn’t stand a chance.  “What is the meaning of this? SIT DOWN!”

 

“Gamzee Makara!” you shout at her.

 

“...Mr. Makara?  The Grand Highblood’s descendant?  What about him?”

 

“Nothing!” Tavros yells, sounding frantic, but the subjugglator bitch presses his head down into the carpet with a heavy boot, muffling his cries of protest.  You tear your eyes away from the heartbreaking sight.

 

You are about to announce that Tavros and Gamzee are in a pitch quadrant together when you suddenly feel unsure.  The credibility of your words would seem doubtful, given Gamzee’s absence and your own disgraced status. Everyone thinks you’re mentally disturbed, and Gamzee is quite renowned for his general indifference to quadrants, despite his many adoring fans.

 

_Where the SHELL is he?_

 

You decide to wait five more seconds to wait for him to miraculously appear.  He fails to do so. So instead, you take a deep breath and point at Tavros. “Gamzee Makara would krill me if the shitblood died,” you say, “because I’m their auspistice.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for those of you who keep in touch on deviantArt and tumblr! My deviantart username is YZYdragon2222 and the tumblr account for this fic is @icanfeelyouacrosstheline (keep those asks coming!!!!!). My personal tumblr is @a2cidentalonomatopoiea. ALSO, if you haven't yet, you should also go check out my GamTav Potterstuck one-shot called "I Can See You In The Mirror" (what is up with my titles LOL?). PBJ foreverrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.......................................
> 
> P.S. The Empress in this fiction is pretty much the AU version of the Condesce...


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am truly an evil human being. Why? Because I went for more than a month without updating and when I finally do, it's the piece of crap chapter. Seriously. What in actual hell am I doing
> 
> But I want to say THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to all of my readers and commenters! I got so many lovely comments last chapter. You have no idea how happy you make me, kiddos! 
> 
> Art for this chapter at:

Chapter 21

****

—> BE FEFERI PEIXES

****

Your breathing is loud and labored and your chest falls up and down rapidly with adrenaline, but everyone is deathly silent and moves as though time slowed down.  To your left, Marvus Xoloto slowly lowers the knife that was only inches away from your rib cage, his painted face guarded and unreadable. To your right, the Tavros is staring at you, his eyes wide and watery and confused and terrified.  You don’t meet his searching gaze, partly because you know you won’t be able to help rushing forward to tend to his injuries if you look at him properly.

****

And also because you’re too shameful to meet his eyes after you just called him a shitblood.  It was necessary, yes, but you still hate yourself for it. You feel dirty for letting such a vulgar, condescending word pass through your lips.

****

The subjugglator bitch is still standing over Tavros, and she wears a wide, gleeful smile on her face that is at odds with the stricken expressions of almost everyone else in the room.  She is the one who worries you the most right now, because you can tell from her wide grin that she recognizes you from the incident back at Lotam.

****

And then there’s the Empress, who’s looking right at you with an icily critical gaze.  You meet her eyes, which are fuchsia like your own but have no visible trace of ever having looked upon anyone or anything with sympathy or compassion.  You hate her eyes, but you maintain your gaze as steadily as you are able. _This is a contest of wills_ , you tell yourself.   _She can’t play the_ _blood superiority trick on me, because I’m just as high as she is.  Feferi, maybe this is why you were hatched with fins! So you can put other assholes with fins in their glubbing PLACE!_

****

Your mental self-reassurances do little to console you, however, because the Empress has spent sweeps practicing her intimidating glare while you have practically no experience in the department of intimidation at all.   Besides, no matter your blood color, the imperial hierarchy still exists, and at the end of the night, you are still just a subject and the Empress is still your monarch.

****

The silence stretches on, long and tense, and it takes all of your willpower to continue standing there with a semblance of confidence and dignity.  You start wishing that the Empress would stop silently judging you with her eyes and just spit it out already. You know that once she opens her mouth, whatever words come out of it will be vile and terrible, but then at least you would know what’s in store for you.  This current anticipation is killing you.

****

After what seems like forever, the Empress opens her mouth at last.  She appears nonchalant, but there is a small crease between her brows that betrays her inner turmoil.  You wonder how what goes on inside her head.

****

You hold your breath, but the Empress doesn’t even address you.  “Mr. Xoloto,” she says slowly, “escort Ms. Peixes out of the courtroom and sea to it that she is safely driven back to her hive.  She is still recovering since her return from the front, and I believe the noise and large crowds are not kelping her...condition.”

****

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the executioner replies, bowing deeply.  Before you are able to truly “YOU DIRTY MURDEROUS PIECE OF SHIT, GET YOUR GLUBBING HANDS _OFF ME_!” you scream, and judging by the way the hand on your shoulder jumps a little bit, you’ve startled him immensely.  However, the man isn’t a subjugglator and the court’s executioner for nothing, and he recovers quickly. He grabs you by both shoulders, not hard enough to hurt but firmly enough to keep you from escaping.

****

You want to yell at the Empress, to tell her that there’s you have no “condition” and that she has no right to expel you from Tavros’s trial.  Only she _does_ have that right because she’s the Empress, and you know from experience that the more people insist that they aren’t crazy, the less believable they are.  So instead, you direct all of your rage towards Marvus Xoloto, screaming, kicking, swatting, punching. It’s a bit hard for even _you_ to believe that you aren’t at least a little fucked up in the head, when you’re the only troll causing a shitshow of a racket in the middle of a courtroom packed with hundreds of silent onlookers.  Most of the audience regards you with either shock or platonic pity—they think it’s sad that a highblood like you should have fallen so far. Still, you don’t concede defeat. You _can’t_.  

comprehend what just transpired, a heavy, blood-soaked hand lands on your shoulder.  Marvus Xoloto begins leading you gently, but firmly, towards the exit of the courtroom.

****

For five seconds you are struck dumb, and you allow him to lead you away without protest.  Then—rather unfortunately for Mr. Xoloto—your brain catches up with reality and you unleash a wrath you would’ve never thought you were capable of.  

****

“You think you’re so great, you unfunny landdwelling lowblood asswipe.” you snarl nastily as you attempt to twist out of Xoloto’s strong grip.  Suddenly, the casteist slurs are flying out of your mouth with ease. “Do you really think your stupid messiahs will reward you for what you do?  Shore, you krill lowbloods but THEY’RE BROUGHT TO YOU SICK AND TIRED AND SCARED AND IN GLUBBING CHAINS! You haven’t seen them at the height of their strength, have you?  Out there, on the battlefield? OF GLUBBING COURSE NOT, CLOWN, YOU’RE TOO MUCH OF A GLUBBING COWARD TO FACE THEM IN A FAIR FIGHT!”

****

You catch a glimpse of Xoloto’s face in the middle of your tirade, and you can tell that he is less than pleased with your insults.  Still, his painted lips remain tightly pressed together, the firm hands on your shoulders still gentle enough not to hurt. You are positive that if you weren’t a seadweller, he would’ve returned your insults without hesitation and broken your shoulders with his strong hands, long ago.  This only serves to make you madder.

****

“If you krill that shitblood, you’ll NEVER meet your dumb carnival salvation!” you rant, trying to point at Tavros.  “You’ll be punished for messing with fate. You’re going to punished for it, and you probably won’t even have to wait for the afterlife for your karma to begin.  Gamzee Makara will make shore you are punished to the worst possible degree, and he knows your creed better than anyone! He will! He _will_!  In fact, he’s on his way right now!  Any second now and he’ll be bursting through those doors, and the first thing he’s gonna do is paint with your blood—”

****

You hear Marvus Xoloto growl in the back of his throat—it’s a soft sound that only you can hear as he continues to put on a facade of cold composure for the rest of the courtroom.  Still, it’s indication that you’ve made him furious with your words. Taking the chance that his anger has slowed down his reflexes, you snap your head to the side as quickly as you can.  His hands are still on your shoulders, and you twist your neck at an angle that allows you to chomp down on his fingers, _hard_.  The tangy taste of blood invades your tongue, but you ignore it in favor of grinding your sharp teeth against the bones of his knuckles.  

****

To his credit, he doesn’t scream or cry out—but his face crumples with shock, then agony, and he lets out a loud gasp.  He releases your shoulders and you take the opportunity to spit in his eyes. Your saliva, tainted with his own purple blood, temporarily blinds him, and you leap away from him, sprinting back towards the front of the courtroom next to Tavros.  The Empress looks at you with shock.

****

It only takes Xoloto a few seconds to catch up with you again, and he tries to grab at you while you prepare to duck.  However, the Empress suddenly throws up her hand sharply, and Xoloto reluctantly ceases his movements.

****

The subjugglator bitch is still smiling creepily, the events that just transpired not fazing her at all.  If anything, she seems amused.

****

“Ms. Peixes,” the Empress says.  “For a seadweller, you know an awful lot about the purpleblood faith.  Has the Cult of the Mirthful Messiahs gained a new convert, or is there somefin you haven’t been telling us?”

****

“There’s nothing I’m not telling you!” you cry.  “Or at least, there’s nothing I’m not willing to tell you—I was about to, but then that insolent lowblood asshole—“ you point accusingly at Xoloto, who looks like he wants to disembowel you with his eyes— “tried to drag me out of the courtroom!”  You fail to mention that the Empress was the one who ordered him to do it in the first place. “I’m Gamzee’s auspistice. You tend to pick up a thing or two when you’re in a quadrant with one of those clowns!”

****

To be honest, you know very little about Gamzee’s religion.  You’d never bothered asking him because of your lack of interest in the juggalo cult, and you hadn’t humored him by feigning interest, either.  It’s a good thing that Gamzee likes rage-preaching about miracles and mirth to anyone in his vicinity. You suppose you picked up a few more things than you realized, but to say that you know the principles of the religion well would be bullshit.  You hope the Empress doesn’t look too deeply into your superficial knowledge about the cult.

****

“Gamzee Makara?” the Empress questions slowly.  Then she throws her head back, losing herself in her incredulity.  “Gamzee Makara! The Grand Highblood’s descendant! This is just--utterly amazing, is what it is.  No offense, Ms. Peixes, but I fail to sea a situation where Mr. Makara would be willing to give you the time of day.  The buoy is--no doubt--one of our most talented subjugglators, and I believe he’d be the last troll to oppose the krilling of lowbloods.  Why would he care about this--” she gestures at Tavros-- “insignificant little piece of shit?”

****

“Gamzee doesn’t care about this shitblood, he _hates_ him!  That’s why I had to auspisticize.  And he’s not as insignificant as you think--”

****

“And yet hate is a form of caring, isn’t it?” the Empress interrupts.  “Otherwise, this shitblood’s death would mean nothing to Mr. Makara. If he reelly does care, that is.  Which I can’t kelp but _not_ believe.”

****

“Whale, maybe you’d believe me if you gave me a chance to explain everyfin,” you plead.

****

The Empress tilts her head to the side and observes you for a long moment.  “What exactly are you trying to achieve here, Ms. Peixes?” she asks softly. “Are you contesting the ruling of the court?”

****

You hesitate before answering.  You don’t want to outright contest the court’s findings, because that would be a scandalous act of defiance--sedition, even--and you don’t think it would be wise to cause any more of a scandal than you already have.  “I’m not contesting anyfin,” you end up saying. “I’m just--I was a witness, and I’d like to provide _circumstantial_ evidence that might, er...change your mind about the _sentencing_.”

****

“Change my mind...as in reducing the shitblood’s punishment?” she questions.  “Ms. Peixes, you do realize that the shitblood has already _pled guilty_ to crimes punishable by death?  I fail to sea how whatever you have to say could change anyfin.”

****

“Please, at least give me a _chance_ ,” you say.

****

“You come here, you disrupt my trial, you attack one of my subjugglators, and you speak to me so disrespectfully, Ms. Peixes.  I’d say you’ve used up the chances you weren’t even supposed to have in the first place!”

****

“I’m sorry!” you cry, panic rising.  “I meant no disrespect. I just--lost my temper for a second, because I was afraid all of you were about to make a horrible mistake!”

****

The Empress looks down at you, and you can tell she’s finally considering you seriously.  “You’re a witness, you say?”

****

“Yes!”

****

“Anyone who wishes to bring evidence before the court must represent either the prosecution or the defense,” the Empress says evenly, crossing her arms in front of her chest.  “Ms. Peixes, let me get this straight. You want to testify on his behalf?” She walks over, leans down, and grabs Tavros by the horns. He whimpers in pain and fear, and you wonder how anyone can find the sound _not_ pitiful.  “Take a good look.  You want to testify on behalf of this criminal?  This _gutterblood_?”

****

You have no choice but to do what you’ve been trying not to do for the entire trial: look Tavros straight in the eye.  Emotions are swimming in conspicuous plainness in his tearful chocolate eyes. You have no choice but to put on a supercilious facade of disgust as you look down at him.  You can’t allow your facial expression to betray you now. “I never said I wanted to testify on _his_ behalf!” you screech.  “I completely agree that he’s a traitorous piece of shit who deserves nothing but the worst.  But sometimes there are external circumstances that prevent us from doing what we want—which is disposing of him.  It would be nice if we could, but it wouldn’t be worth it. Krilling him, I mean.” You stop to take a breath, and now that your eyes are fixed on Tavros’s you can’t look away.  You can see unfiltered hurt shining in them. Oh gog, he doesn’t believe the things you’re saying, does he? He knows you’re putting on a show, right? “I only said I wanted to testify, not _for him_.  It’s different!”

****

“I’m sorry, Ms. Peixes,” the Empress says, though remorse is absent from her tone.  “In court there is no middle ground. One side or the other, you gotta choose.”

****

There is absolutely no question which side you will choose.  However, you make a big show of throwing your arms in the air and growling in frustration, as though you were making a very difficult decision.  After all, if you do choose to testify for the defense--in other words, Tavros--it will go down on your official record that you attempted to aid a lowblood and a war criminal.  In honesty, your reputation could deal with less blows at this point.

****

The Empress releases Tavros’s horns, pushing his head back into the ground, and his forehead bounces off the floor hard.  You watch the spectacle as if it didn’t tear you apart.

****

Finally, you throw your arms down and cry, “This is so glubbing unfair!  I don’t want to defend a gutterblood!”

****

The Empress’s expression softens a tiny bit, and she says, “And I’m sorry about that, Ms. Peixes.  I know you’re still so young, but court is a very adult place where you hafta make very adult decisions.  That’s why I’m letting you either go home, and take a good rest from what must have been a _very_ psychologically taxing night for you, or stay here and make difficult adult decisions--and suffer their consequences.”

****

You glare at the Empress hatefully, but she only smiles back at you.  You cannot tell whether she’s smiling because of some little bit of fondness for you, or if her grin is derisive.  You stomp over to Tavros, turning to glare at the still-smiling subjugglator woman, before shoving her out of the way--or at least, you try to.  She’s taller than you and her body is solid brick wall. However, she voluntarily takes a step backward after your pathetic attempt to push her away. She smirks at you, and you ignore how unsettled that makes you feel.  You raise your foot and stomp on Tavros’s lower back, pinning him beneath you (not that he would’ve been able to move anyway), making an over-the-top show of highblood dominance over the pathetic “shitblood”. You need to keep your act as convincing as possible, and the wrigglerish-tantrum route seems to be the safest bet right now.  The audience doesn’t know how familiar you are with Tavros’s paralysis, and that you are purposely stepping on a part of his body that can’t feel the pain from the pressure of your foot.

****

“Fine!” you shout, crossing your arms over your chest and pouting.  “I’ll defend him, but only because my hand was forced!”

****

“Oh no,” the Empress disagrees, her smile disappearing completely while she shakes her head.  “No, I want to make shore you understand that you are making this choice of your own volition.  You have to take responsibility for your actions now, Ms. Peixes, and accept the consequences.”

****

She pauses, looking at you expectantly, as though she expects you to finally realize what an idiot you’re being and change your mind.  And if you’re honest with yourself, there’s a part of you that kinda wants to abscond right now. You’ve never done something so outwardly defiant in your life.  However, you steel yourself and refuse to budge from your position on top of the shivering, whimpering Tavros.

****

Once the Empress realizes that you really do intend to go through with this, a full-blown frown blooms on her face.  “I tried to kelp you, Feferi,” she states. “I tried to save the last shreds of your dignity. But there is only so much I can do when you are so determined to throw it awave and go against every glubbin’ thing I have to say.  I ain’t culling you for insolence because I still glubbing _care_ about you, as kin of blood.  I’ll let you talk, but that’s as far as my charity is gonna got.”

****

“I’m touched, Your Majesty,” you say.  “But I swear I’m doing this for the greater good of the Empire!”

****

She doesn’t respond, instead turning away from you and Tavros with a flip of her long hair.  She lithely leaps back up to her gilded throne, nodding to the legislacerator on her way there, and sits down, crossing one leg over the other.  

****

The legislacerator bangs his gavel to signify that court is back in session.  You stand tall and straight. For one millisecond, your eyes flicker down to look at Tavros, but his head is bowed, not looking at you.  “The defense has called its first witness,” the legislacerstor says with a note of disbelief in his voice. This is probably the first time a prisoner of war has had anybody testify on their behalf.

****

“Ask the witness to kneel before the court,” the Empress suddenly interrupts, addressing the legislacerator and avoiding your eyes, “to maintain proper Alternian decorum show proper respect for the throne.”

****

“Witness,” the legislacerator calls out, peering at you, “please kneel before the court and humble yourself to our great and condescending Empress.”

****

You freeze in shock for a moment, but you suppose you shouldn’t have expected anything less.  Slowly, you lift your foot off of Tavros and shuffle to the side until you’re right next to him.  Again, you chance a quick peek at your bronzeblood friend, but this time his horns are blocking your view of his face and you still can’t catch his eye.  You slowly lower yourself onto your knees until you’re all the way down on the blood-spattered carpet. You feel so small, on your knees in front of all these spectators--in front of all of Alternia, really--as the legislacerator and the Empress look down upon you.  And even though you want nothing more than to sink all the way into the ground and disappear, you keep your head held high like you’ve done nothing wrong.

****

_You HAVEN’T done anyfin wrong, Feferi!_ you remind yourself.   _Except maybe, not speaking out sooner!  Everyone else is at fault here! The only problem is that they’re the ones in power..._

****

“Witness,” the legislacerator continues, once you are properly kneeling, “please state your name, your age, and your blood color.”

****

“Feferi Peixes, ten sweeps, fuchsia blood,” you state, choosing to keep it as simple as possible.  Besides, this is information everyone already knows.

****

“And Ms. Peixes, do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, or face the consequences?”

****

“I swear.”

****

“Very well,” the legislacerator says, then clears his throat to begin interrogation.  Here goes nothing.

****

“Ms. Peixes, what is your relationship with the defendant?”

****

“I auspisticize.  For him and Gamzee Makara.  Who is, just for the court’s records, about ten sweeps old as well, I think, and a purpleblood.”

****

“And, Ms. Peixes, were you and Mr. Makara aware that, aside from extraordinary situations that have been explicitly approved by Her Majesty, it is unlawful for any troll to enter a non-caliginous quadrant with another troll five or more castes apart from one another?”

****

“I...was aware, yeah,” you admit, because you were aware of it and there would be no point in lying.  This law was just one of many that Eridan had prattled to you about. Sometimes you wish Eridan had educated you less about the law. “But it was alwaves meant to be temporary, anywave!  Nothing o-fish-al, nothing stamped. It was a glubbed up relationship and I’d barely call ourshellves a reel quadrant! Besides, Gamzee intended to o-fish-ally take the shitblood in his caliginous quadrant after the war anywave. I was just there as a temporary buffer.  He asked me to, it’s not like I wanted the freaking job.” Oh glub. You hope that Gamzee doesn’t mind you essentially badmouthing and pinning all blame on him. Hopefully he’ll be regarded with more leniency, considering his prestigious reputation and ancestry.

****

There’s a pause, during which mutters erupt throughout the audience.  How scandalous! You, Gamzee Makara, quadrants, shitbloods…

****

“Ms. Peixes, are you accusing Mr. Makara of having concupiscent feelings for Mr. Nitram?”

****

You blink yourself out of your stupor.  “What? No, I’m not _accusing_ him of having them, I’m just _saying_ as a fact he has them.  Feelings are hardly illegal—“

****

“That is not the question I asked of you, Ms. Peixes!” the legislacerator snaps, and you recoil.

****

“I-I know, but, the way you said it—“

****

“As the legislacerator here, I believe it is up to _me_ to decide how accusations and feelings should be defined, and up to _you_ to answer my questions.  Are we clear, Ms. Peixes?”

****

You swallow.  “I—yes.” It comes out as a defeated mumble.

****

“Now, where were we?” the legislacerator asks, pretending to think.  He must be relishing in the opportunity to torment you, since the Empress kept interrupting him when Tavros was being interrogated.  Still, what an asshole. “Oh, yes. The question that you failed to answer. Let’s try again, Ms. Peixes, shall we?”

****

“...Yes.”

****

“Ms. Peixes, are you accusing Mr. Makara of having concupiscent feelings for Mr. Nitram?”

****

“Yes,” you mumble quietly.

****

“Then why did he feel the need to involve you in a _conciliatory_ quadrant?”

****

“As a precaution.  Gamzee’s shellf-control isn’t his, er, best trait, and he worried that without me, he might accidentally krill the shitblood.  Besides, he needed me to keep the shitblood alive, since I’m a medic and all, and the shitblood was, er, injured.”

****

“Were Mr. Nitram’s injuries life-threatening?”

****

No...aside from the time he went into cardiac arrest.  But you don’t really want to bring that up. “No.” The bullet that had paralyzed him had done only that; the cursed round hole that it had left in his back hadn’t even bled enough to threaten death by blood loss. Ironic, you think, how such a tiny, unsuspecting wound could cost him half his body’s mobility.

****

“Then why did Mr. Makara need your medical skills?”

****

“I already told you!  The shitblood, he was injured!  He’d been shot and if I hadn’t done anyfin—“

****

“Then he wouldn’t have died.  Right? You said so yourself, the injuries were not life-threatening.”

****

“Shore, yeah, but he reelly was seriously hurt.”

****

“So?”

****

You blink in disbelief at the implications of the legislacerator’s simple question.  Did he really expect that you not do anything about Tavros’s condition simply because it wasn’t _life-threatening_ ?  Oh cod, you feel sick.  What kind of monster would you be, if you dared parade around with a medic’s badge pinned to your breast, and refused to help someone in pain and in need even though you were perfectly capable of doing so, just because of something like their blood color?  Perhaps it didn’t apply to everyone else, but for a _medic_ , your eyes were supposed to be blind anything other than the sickness or injury; identity was supposed to be irrelevant.  

****

Then you sneer, bitterly; as if people like the legislacerator, the Empress, and, well...basically everyone else in this room, could understand.  You open your mouth before you can allow the silence to stretch on for too long. “Whale, maybe I could’ve phrased that better. Gamzee didn’t need me to, uh, keep the shitblood _alive_ , per se, as he needed me to keep him...functional.  Whale, as functional as possible.” You gesture vaguely to Tavros’s legs.  “If I hadn’t stabilized his spinal cord, the trauma of his injury would have caused fractures further up his spine and the level of paralysis could have been much higher.”  At this, Tavros suddenly lifts his head and looks at you, eyes wide with shock and other unidentifiable emotions. You suppose you never told him the specifics about how you operated on his back, that very first time when Vriska carried him into your tent, into your _life_.  

****

“And that would have been a problem because…?”

****

You really cannot believe the degree of this legislacerator’s insensitivity and cruelty.  “Because,” you force yourself to say, “it would have become far too troublesome if he became any more useless than he already is!   _Cod_ forbid his _arms_ become paralyzed too, then Gamzee would probably make _me_ spoon-feed him.”

****

“Spoon-feeding wouldn’t really be necessary,” the legislacerator quips back without skipping a beat.  “As long as his mouth weren’t paralyzed too, you could leave your leftovers on the ground where he could reach them.  I heard that trolls of his caste like it when their food is flavored with dirt, just like their blood.” The corner of the legislacerator’s mouth curls into a small smirk, and beside you Tavros’s breath catches and he immediately bows his head again.  “But no matter. Such matters are private. The question is...why would you and Mr. Makara go through all this trouble for Mr. Nitram here? That there are others, worthier of blood...of that there is no doubt. But even if you were bound to choosing someone from his caste, there are hundreds and thousands--no, millions--of bronze trolls who, at the very least, are not physically defective like him.”

****

“That may be so, but they are all cripples in comparison to his psychic prowess!”

****

“So you were aware of Mr. Nitram’s abilities, the whole time?”

****

“Not the whole time, but--but I don’t know if Gamzee knew, with his chucklevoodoos and all that.”

****

“Mr. Nitram has shown a shocking immunity to psychic influence so far.  Are you saying...that Mr. Makara’s chucklevoodoos are effective on him?”

****

The Empress remains silent, but she suddenly leans forward on her throne with interest. You try not to look at her, fixing a steely gaze on the legislacerator instead.  You open your mouth to answer, but you are interrupted.

****

“Y-yes,” says a shallow, squeaky voice.   _Tavros_.  “Only—only him.  No one else.”

****

“Don’t speak out of turn, Mr. Nitram—“

****

“Is that so?” the Empress asks, swiftly interrupting the legislacerator once again.  “ _Only him_?  And how do you know for shore?”

****

“W-well, I have no way of knowing, with certainty that’s, um, absolute, I mean because there are millions of highbloods with psychic powers that I’ve never met, b-but, uh...Vriska, and Miss Carmia, and even, all the subjugglators at Lotam, they, uh...they gave me headaches, severe ones, sometimes, but with Gam—er, the h-highblood—it was, it was all so _real_ .”  And Tavros gives a great big shudder, and you catch a glimpse of the look in his eyes.   _Fear_ .  You don’t tell if the fear is real or not; if he’s pretending to be so scared of Gamzee’s chucklevoodoos for the sake of appearances, or if Gamzee’s mind-fuckery really _did_ traumatize him so badly, back then.

****

You steal a glance out of the corner of your eye and notice that the subjugglator woman is no longer smiling.  

****

The Empress, however, is beaming widely this time, and she leans back once again.  “That’s exceptionally interesting to know,” she grins, sharp teeth glinting. “Very good information, indeed.  Ha! Useful, and somefin I hadn’t considered before.” She hums in thought. “And does Mr. Makara know that he is singularly capable of... _penetrating_ you with his chucklevoodoos?” Glubbing fuck, the Empress’s cringeworthy word choice is _so_ evidently intentional.

****

Tavros winces.  “Um, yeah…”

****

The Empress steeples her fingers and sobers a bit, though traces of her smile are still there.  She turns to look at you, and you automatically straighten up. “Some things still don’t line up, though,” she says.  “Ms. Peixes.”

****

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

****

“Do you know how Mr. Makara feels, about having this unique power of the shitblood?”

****

“Yes.  Possessiveness.”  This, at least, is not a lie, though the Empress may misunderstand the source of Gamzee’s possessiveness.

****

“Hmph.  Whale, I suppose that’s unsurprising.  But what bothers me is why Mr. Makara allowed young Rufioh to live long enough to find out about to start feelin’ all possessive about this shit.  Krill now, talk later—sounds more like Mr. Makara’s style, am I right?”

****

“Yes...you are right,” you mutter.  You hate the legislacerator for being a cruel jerk, but honestly you prefer his interrogation to the Empress’s.  This is horrible.

****

“That means somefin happened—somefin _important_ —pretty glubbing early in this relationship.  Somefin that made Mr. Makara look at Rufioh and think, ‘Hey, ya know what, I wanna waste more than two seconds looking at this piece of shit. And you know what?  I kinda wanna fuck it, too.’”

****

You wince at the Empress’s crassness, before considering her question.  Well, she didn’t really actually phrase it as a question, but she left it open-ended and evidently intended for you to take the hint and respond to it.  But…

****

What do you say?  It’s easy enough to argue that Tavros shouldn’t be executed because he has a highblood auspistice, or because a subjugglator wants to be his kismesis.  The hard part is explaining _why_. A reason compelling enough for the Empire to allow this to happen.

****

You’re drawing up blank.

****

You try not to let it show on your face, as audience members start hushing each other up, falling into a silence with increasing eagerness by the second, waiting for an answer, while you are still completely unsure of what to say.

****

You’re starting to sweat.  You wonder if anyone can see the beads of fuchsia gathering at your temples—

****

_Come ON, Feferi, think, think, think—_

****

And then it strikes you.  You’d already pulled the religion card before, and now the Empress seems to think you’re some amateur expert on the Cult of the Mirthful Messiahs.  Best build your next argument off of something you’ve already managed to establish.

****

“He had a vision,” you blurt out.  “Gamzee had a vision.”

****

“A vision?”

****

“Yeah! The Messiahs—the Mirthful Messiahs, or whatever—gave him a vision, of a lowblood who could commune with any beast.  Gamzee’s alwaves had an infinity for those supernatural voices and stuff!” Otherwise, why would he go muttering about the messiahs in his head commanding him to do this or that?  You’d written him off as deluded, before, but now you wonder whether or not Gamzee had truly been touched by some mystical power. Well, now’s not the time to question it. The words begin to flow easily from your mouth as you quickly spin your lies into a convincing narrative.  “Then there was the attack—when we ambushed the lowblood platoon. I mean— _I_ wasn’t there, of course, as a medic I stayed at the camp.  I don’t know if Gamzee saw him during the battle.” You think back to that day; Gamzee had stormed back to camp ahead of the others, alone.  You never did find out what happened to make him so unstable. Was Tavros the reason? “But it was Serket who brought the shitblood back to us.  But when Gamzee saw him…he didn’t know the name or anyfin, or the extent of the lowblood’s abilities, from the vision, but...the face, he remembered clearly.  And it was _his_!”  You point at Tavros.  

****

The courtroom draws a collective breath.  You suddenly remember that a large number of these spectators are probably purplebloods who share Gamzee’s religion.  Will they believe your bold claims? Gamzee had a mixed reputation among the purplebloods; his fellow subjugglators seemed to despise him, but many of his fellow churchgoers revered him as the Grand Highblood’s descendant and a true scion of their cult.  “Gamzee’s vision showed him a lowblood whose power was so great that he could end the war. Serket can’t control the shitblood, and I’m betting no one else can. Except Gamzee with his glubbing chucklevoodoos. And if Gamzee can control the shitblood, then— _we_ can end the war.”

****

“We can end the war with or without a stupid shitblood!” the Empress suddenly screams, leaping to her feet.

****

On any other occasion, you might have been startled or scared, but you’re internally burning with too much rage at the moment to be intimidated by the Empress.  “We thought the rebellion would be a weeklong affair. Your Majesty, _it’s been two glubbing sweeps_!  We have the money!  We have the technology and the resources!  Clearly there’s somefin the lowbloods have that we don’t—and you know what?  I think Tavros is that somefin!”

****

“Who’s Tavros?” the Empress asks, smirking.

****

Of all the ways you might have expected her to respond, this was not even on the bottom of the list.  You screw up your eyebrows in pure confusion for a moment—

****

Oh.

****

_Oh_.

****

Shit, you want to slap yourself.  No, this is far too serious to warrant _just_ a _slapping_.  You want to beat yourself up, maybe.  You deserve to die—

****

How could you have blown Tavros’s cover as Rufio?

****

You still don’t understand why he lied about his name, and the fact that the Empress responded so strongly to the name “Rufioh Nitram” is an enigma that you don’t want to think about right now.  But still. You know Tavros had his reasons for lying, and now, you’ve ruined it with your big, careless mouth. I mean, it didn’t seem as if the Empress legitimately believed that Rufioh was his real name, but there wasn’t anything to prove that, either.  Now, not only have you busted Tavros for lying, but all of Alternia also knows his real name.

****

You splutter pathetically, trying to remedy your slip-up even though you know deep down that it’s too late.  But then:

****

“I’m Tavros,” Tavros says.  “Tavros Nitram.”

****

“Oh?” the Empress says, feigning surprise.  “So are you telling me...that you _are_ a liar, after all?  What happened to telling _nofin but the truth_?”

****

“It’s still the truth,” Tavros says softly, but with steely conviction in his eyes.  “Rufio is the name I go by. It doesn’t matter what my lusus decided to name me! If it weren’t for, the, uh, highblood’s damn chucklevoodoos, s-she--” he shakily lifts one of his unbroken fingers and points at you--”wouldn’t have known about my name being Tavros at all!”

****

You think back, and recall that it had actually been Vriska who had forced Tavros to reveal his name.  He’d claimed he was called...Toreador, or something like that, back then.

****

“Hey, don’t act so offended,” the Empress chuckles, holding up her hands in mock-placation.  “Rufio is a name that suits you! I like it and if that’s what you wanna be called, I won’t protest.  Besides, as unbelievable as it seemed in the beginning, I truly do believe you’re his descendant. Any writings or paintings of the original Rufio were burned long ago, of course, so we have no idea if you share his looks or his sign, but--the lusus manipulation is undeniable.  HA!” She suddenly breaks out into loud laughter. “Rufio Nitram, the lowbloods’ heroic savior, reborn as a useless smudgling of a _cripple_.  If that isn’t the stamp of karma, I don’t know what is.”

****

You don’t have time to really think process what the Empress just said before she abruptly looks away from Tavros and addresses you again.  “Ms. Peixes,” she says, “you said Mr. Makara saw dear Rufio in a vision, didn’t you?”

****

“Y-yes.”  You inwardly curse when your voice cracks slightly, but the Empress pays it no mind.

****

“And you said that it didn’t start out caliginous, hm?”

****

“Yeah…”

****

“So how _did_ it turn caliginous?”

****

You hum in thought for a moment.  “Whale, again, I think possessiveness was a large part of it, since Gamzee’s the only one who can control T--the shitblood.”  You catch yourself from saying Tavros’s name again, even though it doesn’t really matter all that much anymore. “Then add Serket into the equation, she obviously wanted to fuck him, and I think that incensed Gamzee even more...and just the fact, that according to the Messiahs’ vision, the shitblood is supposed to be the High Side’s all-important trump card, and he turned out to be...such a snivelling disappointment.  I’m shore Gamzee was _hoping_ the lowblood in his vision would at least be worthy of his time, not this...you know.  And yet Gamzee couldn’t krill the shitblood--at the very least, not out of blatant disrespect to his religion!  I’m shore you know how volatile Gamzee can be. I guess that disappointment and frustration...turned into real hatred pretty ea-sea-ly.”

****

The Empress rubs her chin in thought.  “All right,” she says, and you can’t tell from her tone of voice whether or not she believes you.  “Ms. Peixes, you said that you weren’t aware of Rufio’s abilities--not for _the whole time_.”

****

“Er, no--whale I mean yes, yes I did say that.”

****

“So you were aware...for some of the time?”

****

“I...yes?  Over time I found out about some of it--”

****

“And not once.  Not once, did you choose to report your findings to the Capitol?  If I recall correctly...I only received _one_ report from your platoon about Mr. Nitram here.  Only one, in regard to such an important individual.  And it didn’t come from you, or Mr. Makara, or Ms. Serket, did it?  No...it came from Mr. Eridan Ampora, did it not?”   


You bristle at the mention of Eridan’s name, an unidentifiable emotion springing up in your bloodpusher.  You vehemently push it away. “I can’t speak for Serket, or the rest of our platoon,” you say, “but Gamzee and I had the shitblood under control those couple of weeks, and we didn’t sea the need to bother the esteemed Capitol about it.  Back then, we didn’t know he could control lusii...just that he could resist Vriska, but then again Gamzee could properly subdue him so what was the big deal? But then Gamzee went on a short mission and we couldn’t have known what was going to happen when the shitblood was unattended…”  You can’t help but involuntarily shudder at the memory, of Captain Nektan forcing Tavros’s legs wide apart and violating him, all your efforts to stop him completely futile… “It was chaos after that! Our Captain had just died, and I’ll admit, I had a fight with my moirail. I wasn’t thinking properly.  Besides, Eridan took care of it so what’s the big deal?”

****

“Your moirail?”

****

Damn, why does the Empress always pick up on the weirdest details?  “Yeah...Eridan,” you admit. “Ex-moirail.”

****

“Pity, he seems like a fine young man.”

****

“You don’t know him, or what he’s capable of!”

****

“Whale, from what I’ve observed, he seems like a responsible young troll who has taken on the mantle of captain despite his young age--wait, did you say that was the night your captain died?  As in, the one before Mr. Ampora?”

****

“...Yes.”

****

“What exactly happened, Ms. Peixes?”

****

You take deep breath.  You’re pretty sure that Eridan included in his report that Gamzee had been the one to slaughter the captain, so there’s no point in lying.  You decide to abbreviate the sequence of events. “Gamzee left for a mission. When he came back he realized that the captain was...whale…” you glance at Tavros.  “That the captain was playing around with the shitblood. Gamzee lost his shit and somewhere in the process the shitblood managed to commune with Eridan’s lusus and everyfin kinda went crazy.  It was confusing and I’m not reelly shore how it all went down. Somefin like...Gamzee and the captain fought and Gamzee won. The captain shoulda known better than to mess with another highblood’s kismesis!”

****

You tense when the Empress slowly stands up out of her throne.  “Thank you for your testimony, Ms. Peixes. I sea now that it was worth allowing you to explain yourshellf.  I never would have expected this, but...the dots do seem to be lining up.” She turns to Tavros again. “Rufio, how would you feel if I allowed you to go home with your...kismesis?”

****

Hope surges in your gut.

****

“I--I…” Tavros stutters, sounding dazed.  “He’s--the highblood’s not my kismesis. Even a kismesis, would be, uh, less cruel, than he is.  He’s, uh, he’s an abomination, and honestly I’d really rather die, than see him, again.” He shudders dramtically.

****

You really, really, hope Tavros is just trying to use reverse psychology.

****

The Empress appears to buy it.  “Then there could be no punishment more suitable!” The Empress cackles.  “Send a missive to Captain Ampora!” she declares. “He shall be coming home with honors.  That buoy deserves a nice vacation and a promotion for bringing Rufio to me.”

****

“It shall be done, Your Majesty,” the legislacerator replies.  

****

The Empress steps off of the raised platform where her throne is, and begins walking towards you.  “Ladies and gentlemen,” she says loudly and confidently, addressing the crowd as a whole, “do not doubt for a single glubbing second that the High Side will win the war.  We _will win_ , and the shitbloods will go down.  It is only a matter of time.” The crowd cheers.  “However, I must admit that victory would taste so much sweeter, if we used the gutterbloods’ own power _against_ them.  Ms. Peixes has a point!  We have authority, the money, the resources; the Low Side has almost nofin, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have _somefin_.  They abandoned their duties here at home and invaded our forests, our grasslands, our mountains; they take refuge in the savage wilderness.  And because of the bronzeblood power, they’ve taken the power of our wild beasts, as well. Nature is on their side, but only because they stole that power.  However, if Mr. Nitram here passes his final test tonight, he will be the one steals that power back for us, no longer in the name of the wretched Low Side, or the stupid Cavalreapers--but for the Alternian Empire, which was destined to rule until the end of time!”

****

The roar of the cheering crowd is almost deafening, so you have no idea how the Empress still manages to hear you when you whisper, full of dread, “The final test?”

****

“Yes, Ms. Peixes, the final test,” she says, grinning wickedly and revealing nothing.

****

She walks over to Marvus Xoloto, who is still standing a few feet behind you, nursing his bleeding hand.  She leans over and whispers something into his ear, and he immediately nods his assent and walks toward the courtroom exit, disappearing through the door.  What just happened?

****

Then she walks over to you, and you stare intently into her fuchsia eyes as she looks down at you.  The Empress is actually a fairly short woman (excluding her horns) but her aura exceeds that of any troll you’ve ever met, and you’re also still kneeling.  The way she towers above you and drowns you in her shadow makes you feel so, so small.

****

You flinch when she leans toward you, but instead of hitting you or doing anything violent like that, she tucks her finger under your chin and lifts it up.  “Feferi, my gill,” she says softly, and this time you’re pretty sure her words are for you only. Well, maybe Tavros can hear her too, given his close proximity, but likely no one else.  “You may stand now.”

****

You don’t realize how much your knees were aching from kneeling until you make the effort to stand up again.  Your legs shake and wobble, probably due to your nervousness and hammering bloodpusher, but the Empress places a nimble, manicured hand on your shoulder and steadies you.  You bite the inside of your cheek, restraining yourself from doing something stupid, like push her away.

****

“I am very proud of you, Ms. Peixes, for finally doing the right thing,” she says.  “You are a fellow seadweller. I watched you from a distance as you grew up, alwaves wondering, _what went wrong_.”

****

“Wow, thanks.”  You can’t help the sarcasm that seeps into your voice.

****

“But now I sea I worried for nofin.  You have delivered the High Side...the perfect weapon.”  She glances at Tavros for a moment, then fixes her scary gaze upon you again.  “That is, if you were telling the truth. You wouldn’t lie, would you, Ms. Peixes?  You know how severe the punishment for lying is.”

****

You don’t dare look away from the Empress, but out of the corner of your eye, you notice Marvus Xoloto reentering the courtroom.  Only this time, he’s holding something. It’s not a butcher knife, this time. It’s a whip.

****

“Y-yes, Your Majesty, I know.  I was telling the truth,” you breathe.

****

It’s not a normal whip, though.  It’s one of those shiny ones made out of thin, flexible metal, with tiny spikes at the end.  Intended to augment the victim’s suffering hundredfold. A torture device, period.

****

“Good,” she croons.  “And you said...that Mr. Makara is on his way?”  

****

“Yes…”

****

“If you hadn’t intervened, the trial would’ve been over by now,” the Empress muses.  “He’s had more than enough time to get here...even though he’s not supposed to even be in the city.  No matter,” she licks her lips, “it’s a special circumstance and his disobedience can be dealt with later.  I’ll give him a few more minutes.”

****

“A few more minutes to what?”

****

“To save his kismesis,” she replies calmly.  “But if he fails to show up, Ms. Peixes, I can only assume that you were lying, and you little friend-- _Tavros_ \--dies.  Just as he deserves.  Understood?”

****

“I--I understand,” you choke out, because Gamzee is coming, right?  He has to, he must--

****

“We’ll give Mr. Makara half an hour to arrive,” the Empress announces to the room as a whole.  “If he reelly cares so much about his kismesis, he’ll make shore to be here by then.”

****

“C-can I, can I pester him?” you ask, voice cracking, eyes pleading.  “So that he knows, that there’s a time limit--tell him to hurry up--”

****

“No,” the Empress refuses swiftly.  “His Messiahs seem to be an appropriate messenger so no need to stoop to their level.  They’ll let him know if he’s running late, don’t you agree, Feferi?”

****

You swallow, having nothing to say to that.  

****

“In the meantime, can we have some entertainment?” the Empress yells to the crowd.  Dropping her voice once again so that only you can hear her, she says, “Feferi. One last question.”

****

Dumbly, you nod.  

****

Marvus Xoloto is walking nearer and nearer, but then he walks past you completely.

****

“Do you pity Tavros?” the Empress asks bluntly.

****

Marvus Xoloto says something indiscernible to the subjugglator woman, who scoops Tavros off the floor, turns him around, and dumps him back onto it, face down.  Tavros lands with a pained yelp. He is still shirtless, and his back lies exposed for all to see.

****

“No, Your Majesty, I do not,” you reply.

****

The Empress leans in close to your fins and whispers, “Then you won’t mind what happens next.”

****

She steps aside, and you are left standing there, defenseless from the view of Marvus Xoloto brandishing the spiked whip high above his head.

****

_SHLING_

****

The sound is loud, the sound of metal zipping through the air in the seconds before it meets it target.  You see and hear it as though in slow motion. You watch the way light catches each bend of the shiny metal whip as it makes its journey downwards.  

****

_CRACK_

****

The whip is a brush that paints flowers in its wake, blooming in an angry color of bronze in one unforgiving slash across his back.  He screams, the crowd roars and laughs; he pleads for it to end and the crowd screams for more. The dissonant noises clash in your head and you can’t discern one voice from another anymore.  It’s just one sickening symphony of misery and despair.

****

And the crowd screams for more, and they get their wish because the symphony is far from over.  This is what the crowd came for. They had no interest in a wordy trial, or justice. They came for the pain.  They came for the blood.

****

And Marvus Xoloto strikes the next chord with another loud _SHLING_ .  The boy on the ground—Tavros, your Tavros, hears the _SHLING_ and he thrashes in terrified anticipation.  But there’s no escape for him. He’s a canvas now, and he starts screaming before the whip paints another row of bleeding bronze flowers across his back.  

****

Each time there is a _CRACK_ , the medic in your mind calculates just how many stitches the new, festering wound would need, just how much healing salve it would require, just how many hours it would take to heal.  But only a few seconds of those precious hours of healing are given before yet another devastating blow is dealt, crisscrossing with the existing slashes on his back like the Capitol’s busiest intersection.  

****

“I thought...you weren’t supposed to mess with another highblood’s kismesis,” you say hollowly.  The way they’re punishing Tavros has no caliginous flavor to it, though. It’s just barbarism, through and through.

****

The Empress makes a sound of agreement.  “That’s right, but regardless of who’s quadrant he fills, Rufio needs to pay for his own crimes, especially if he’s to be allowed to live.  Highblood kismesis or not, he’s still a war criminal.”

****

There is a large clock that hangs on the front wall of the courtroom, and you choose to train your eyes on the slow journey of its second hand.  Half an hour—that is only 1800 seconds. That doesn’t seem so long. Each second brings this torment closer to the end.

****

_1740, 1739, 1738, 1737…_

****

A gentle hand clasps your shoulder.  “Ms. Peixes, why are you crying?” the Empress inquires.

****

You straighten up and force yourself to harden your expression, imagining that your face were made of steel, impenetrable by the emotions stirring your insides.  “I’m not _crying_ ,” you spit.  Another _SHLING, CRACK_ , scream.  You don’t wince when some of that bronze blood spatters the front of your shirt from the impact of the whip.  “Some of his dirty blood got into my eyes, that’s all.”

****

The Empress hums in delight, not commenting on the fact that your eyes are, in fact, protected by your goggles, so there was no way anything could have gotten into them.  

****

_960, 959, 958, 957…_

****

This time, no scream follows the telltale _CRACK_.  You clearly are not the only one who notices, because the spectators immediately lean forward in their seats and start raising an even louder ruckus.

****

“Shit, why’d he stop?”

****

“Fucker didn’t die, did he?  Fucking lightweight!”

****

The Empress walks towards bloody scene, leaving you standing alone.  The figure on the ground is starting to look less and less like Tavros, and more and more like a small pool of bronze decorated with tattered ribbons of inflamed flesh.  Even as a medic, you’ve never had to deal with an injuries like these. You vaguely wonder: even if Tavros survives the ordeal, would you have the skillset and to heal him?

****

The Empress leans down and places two fingers on Tavros’s pulse.  “He’s still alive, just out cold!” she announces, and even though the situation couldn’t be more terrible, you still let out small a sigh of relief.  

****

“Should we keep going, then, Your Majesty?” Marvus Xoloto asks calmly, as though he hadn’t just been beating someone into unconsciousness.  

****

“Yeah, but it’s no fun when he’s out of it.  Chahut--” she turns to the other subjugglator.  “Wake him up?”

****

“HeHE, I’ll be right back, Your Majesty,” the subjugglator bitch says, hastening for the exit of the courtroom.  

****

_866, 865, 864, 863…_

****

She returns a few minutes later, carrying a large container full of ice water.  The Empress and Xoloto step away from the unconscious Tavros as Chahut approaches.  The ice water is then unceremoniously dumped onto Tavros’s head.

****

His head shoots up as he rudely forced back into the world of wakefulness, and the sharp movement aggravates the injuries on his back and he half-gasps, half-wails.  His overused voice, hoarse from screaming, cracks pitifully.

****

“P-p-p-please,” he begs, his tears mixing with the cold water on his face.  Long strands of hair from his overgrown, sopping wet mohawk stick to his forehead, some of it getting in his eyes.  “Please just s-ss-st-top.”

****

_681, 680, 679, 678…_

****

“Please just kill me,” Tavros whispers, but his pleas reach deaf ears as Xoloto steps forward again, barbed whip raised high above his head.

****

_500, 499, 498, 497…_

****

At the Empress’s command, Xoloto delivers his brutal flagellations at wider intervals of time, allowing Tavros to rest in between.  After all, the intention is not to whip him to death. Death would be too merciful.

****

_400, 399, 398, 397…_

****

Tavros falls unconscious once again, and Chahut leaves to get another container of ice water.  

****

_300, 299, 298, 297…_

****

Tavros is again forced awake.  This time, he chokes on the water that has been dumped on him, and has a long coughing fit.  Everyone just watches, waiting for him to finish coughing so they can continue their “entertainment”.  You continue to stare at the clock, still methodically counting the seconds, and at this moment you realize that  300 seconds means there are only five minutes left.

****

And Gamzee still hasn’t shown up.  

****

Four minutes…

****

Three minutes…

****

Two minutes…

****

_60, 59, 58, 57…_

****

Even though there’s only less than a minute left, the Empress and the subjugglators do not seem to have any intention to stop Tavros’s punishment.  He has been whipped dozens of times by now, and you read somewhere once that the troll body could sustain up to 200 flagellations before succumbing and dying.  At the time, you’d wondered why this was information anyone would need to know. After all, how could anybody do this to another troll?

_33, 32, 31, 29…_

****

It seems so long ago, that you visited Tavros in his cell and gathered him in your arms as he asked you to cull him right there so he wouldn’t have to endure his trial.  

****

_How bad could it possibly be?_ you thought, and refused him.

****

You regret your decision.

****

_10, 9, 8 7…_

****

The Empress suddenly turns back, and smirks at you.

****

6, 5, 4, 3…

****

2…

****

1…

****

“ZERO!” the Empress yells, and you bury your face in your hands.

****

The crowd goes wild.  

****

“ORDER TO THE COURT!” the legislacerator booms, banging his gavel over and over.  “ORDER TO THE COURT!”

****

He repeats this for more than a dozen times, before the bloodlusting audience finally settles down.  Their excitement is just barely suppressed, however, and even though they are silent, they squirm restlessly in their seats.

****

On the floor, Tavros moans faintly in agony.  You realize that it’s all over now, and what you do doesn’t matter anymore.  You fall to your knees and crawl over to him, ignoring Xoloto and Chahut, who are still flanking him on either side.  Chahut scoffs at your display, but otherwise doesn’t comment.

****

You want to comfort Tavros somehow, but his entire back is torn up and covered in blood, and you’re pretty sure that even contact with thin air is hurting him immensely right now, so you can’t touch him there.  Instead, you cradle his head in your lap. His forehead is pressed against your legs, and you can feel his ragged breath even through your skirt. Even though ice water was dumped on him twice, his skin is burning feverishly.  

****

“I’m sorry,” you whisper brokenly.  “I’m so sorry.”

****

He doesn’t reply.

****

The Empress holds up her hands to maintain control over her audience.  “Mr. Makara failed to come,” she says simply, but there is a note of undisguised triumph in her voice.  “I’m shore you all know what this means.”

****

“Cull him!”

****

“Whip him some more!”

****

“Auction him!”

****

“I can’t do that,” the Empress shakes her head, responding to the last comment.  “I understand the appeal of owning an exquisitely broken product like he is. Unfortunately, his psychic powers make him too dangerous to be released into public ownership.  However, the last half an hour was very satisfying and it’s cleared my head a little. I’ve decided against being too hasty to execute him.”

****

At these words, Tavros stirs in your lap.

****

“I’m shore we can find a use for him until the war is over.  I’ll take him as a personal servant, if I must, but I’m still trying to decide.  And when the war is won, and the rest of the gutterbloods brought home, Rufio will have a public execution where all of his friends can watch in person--”

****

_BANG_

****

You jump at the sudden noise; several members of the audience scream.  The Empress frowns and growls, and you follow her gaze to find it directed at the front doors of the courtroom.

****

Which have been slammed side open.

****

And standing, there, in the doorframe, is a tall troll with untamed hair and upwards-spiralling horns.  To your surprise, he's wearing his High Side uniform, but he’s also brandishing his clubs and you’d recognize him anywhere.

****

“ _WHAT. THE MOTHERFUCK. IS GOING. ON!_?” Gamzee yells.

****

It’s a sight that will haunt you for the rest of your life.  You see Gamzee’s wild eyes roam all over the room, searching, searching, until they find Tavros and settle directly on the bronzeblood.  You watch the way Gamzee’s expression changes. There are no tears in his eyes. In fact, his facial muscles barely twitch, at all, but somehow Gamzee changes into a completely different troll.

****

On this night, Gamzee Makara sees Tavros Nitram, the boy he had repeatedly called his miracle, lying on a bloody heap on the floor.  It’s the first time he’s seen Tavros since their separation at Lotam.

****

Gamzee dies a little bit on the inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAH! How was that? :O I swear, guys, next chap will have Gamzee's POV. If y'all haven't completely given up on me by then.
> 
> I'll be travelling for the next month-and-a-half or so, so I will only have a limited amount of time to write. I will still try to do my best, though, but I will do major catching up upon my return!
> 
> Happy summer y'all! *dies in the heat*


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALL RIGHT, FOLKS,
> 
> I know I officially suck more than the world's strongest vacuum cleaner for not updating for so long. After my exceptionally busy summer, I had a severe bout of writer's block...then motivational crisis...and then when I finally finished the draft for this new chapter I had a self-confidence crisis in which I almost erased the entire chapter because I felt it wasn't good enough. Well you know what? FUCK ALL OF THAT, I'M OVER IT NOW! Let's just hope this new chapter doesn't suck as hard as I do :/
> 
> I promise that after this, the ball will start rolling again. This particular chapter was just a massive hurdle I had to get over since it's my first update after my longest hiatus. But now that I've overcome it, my writer's flame is BACK ON

Chapter 22

****

→ BE GAMZEE MAKARA

****

As you sprint down the corridor towards the courtroom, you can already hear the racket of hundreds of trolls through the tall double doors, screaming and cheering about some spectacle you aren’t yet witness to.  Your psychic powers skim their thoughts and emotions, and while there are too many of them to make out any specific thought belonging to any single troll, their enthusiasm and bloodlust are  _ off the charts _ .  In the past, enthusiasm and bloodlust of this kind would only serve to excite the voices inside you—but not tonight.   Not when you know Tavros is somewhere behind those doors.  

****

And as your feet bring you yet nearer to the courtroom doors, the metallic stench of blood begins to attack your nostrils.  Shit, there must be a motherfuckin’ ton of it if you can sniff it out from way out here. Some of it smells like old, drying blood, no doubt belonging to lowblood trolls long dead by now, executed in that very courtroom.  But some of that blood smells  _ fresh _ .  Some of that blood smells so  _ good _ it makes you dizzy, because—

****

Some of that blood is  _ his _ .  

****

You thought you were already running at full speed before, but somehow you push yourself to run even faster.  As you approach the doors, the racket grows even louder and then all of a sudden, you hear something that sounds like the banging of a gavel and the noise diminishes.  A single female voice starts to speak, as though making an announcement. The doors effectively muffle her voice enough to make her exact words indiscernible.

****

Only when you’re right in front of the doors do you notice the guard who’d been standing there.  You raise your clubs, prepared to fight him for entry, but to your surprise, he doesn’t even attempt to stop you.  He takes a step back, eyes wide with shock. “Gamzee...Makara?” he breathes in awe, easily recognizing you. “Oh, wow.  The fish girl was actually for real! You actually came!” 

****

You scowl at the guard, not really understanding what he’s talking about.  However, it does seem like he was expecting your arrival.   Is that a bad sign?  You don’t ponder on it, instead simply shoving the guard out of the way.  He collides against the wall with an  _ oof _ !  Then you raise your foot and with a single, powerful kick, the doors blast open.

****

“WHAT. THE MOTHERFUCK. IS GOING. ON!?”  You hear the yelling before you realize that it’s  _ you _ who’s doing the actual yelling.  The room feels too loud, too bright, too unfiltered, and your chucklevoodoos batter your thinkpan

in a wonky and painful way.  

****

You rake the courtroom with your eyes, but you’re unable to really process anything beyond the pointlessly grand murals on the walls, glaringly bright chandeliers on the glass ceiling, and nameless faces of a large highblood audience.  You continue searching, and—holy shit, is that the  _ Empress _ standing right there, looking at you,  _ motherfuck _ that’s not good, and behind her is—

****

Suddenly, all you can hear is white noise.  You feel detached from your own body. You can feel the motherfucking lusus of all ragestorms boiling in your gut, and the heat of your emotions licks at your insides and it’s so  _ painful _ that you shy away from all feeling, becoming completely blank and numb.  You have no more control over yourself than a corpse over its soulless body, and you think you would have dropped your clubs to the ground by now if you could actually muster the power to even unclench your fists from around them.  Indeed, it seems as if your shock has sacrificed your ability to even make an expression on your face; you know that your eyes are wide open but the rest of your visage is unresponsive. There’s a little whispering voice in the back of your head that tells you that the space between your brows should be furrowed in fury, your lips bared and your fangs glinting in a feral snarl.  The voice tells you that you should be mad. The voice tells you that you should be  _ killing something by now.   _

****

But for once, you don’t listen to it.  In the past, the temptation of blood and violence had been too much to resist.  Now, you can’t give in to that rage anymore. You don’t even know how to.

****

It’s like something inside you has broken.  

****

You’re standing in the eye of a tornado, completely unscathed, as the winds around you utterly destroy everything you hold most precious.

****

He’s lying face down with his head in Feferi’s lap (but your brain doesn’t really register her presence).  His hair, head, horns, and neck are sopping wet. He’s still wearing your pants. And he’s not wearing a shirt.  But where there had been mostly unblemished skin before, his back is now the crisscrossed, raw, and bloody aftermath of the worst whipping you’ve ever seen in your life.  It looks like strips of his tender flesh have been ripped inside out, and it looks swollen and inflamed as blood leaks out from the gashes. You don’t need to look twice to know that there will be permanent scars.   _ Really bad _ scars.  

****

It’s the most horrible sight you’ve ever seen in your life.  Yet at the same time, even as he lies there half-conscious in his own sweat and blood with his skin flayed open, he’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.  It makes you confused and disgusted with yourself.

****

_ You have to get him out of here. _  It’s the only thought that your thinkpan has capacity to hold onto right now.  You take a step forward—

****

... _ Gamzee _ ?

****

The voice is soft, dazed, laced with agony, and it’s also  _ angelic _ .  It’s impossible to mistake it for anyone—or anything—else.  You’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be psychically connected with him.  Even against the loud cacophony of noise bombarding your pan right now—mostly from the other trolls heckling your chucklevoodoos—his gentle voice sings the loudest, the clearest, a splash of brightness against everything dark.

****

But it’d be selfish to do nothing but bask in his psychic presence in your head.  You make to reach out to him, to respond to him somehow, but you find your mental voice just as choked up as your physical one.  

****

So instead, you focus on the fact that he’s basically delirious with pain right now.  You’re not sure if he’s even aware that he’s using his psychics with you, or if he subconsciously reached out to your mental presence.  

****

Cautiously—because you don’t want to do him any more harm in his delicate state—you use your chucklevoodoos to slip into his thinkpan and temporarily muddle the parts of his brain that register pain.  In all your past sweeps, you never would have used your powers this way, nor would you have imagined your chucklevoodoos could be a mechanism of kindness. It’s a testament to how much Tavros has managed to change you in a few short weeks.  But it was bad enough, having to use this side of your powers on a bunch of nameless strangers of trolls when you were sawing off horns in Lotam; you never even dared imagine the possibility that Tavros would be suffering badly enough for you to have to use this on  _ him _ . 

****

The movement is subtle, but Tavros freezes up for a moment when the chucklevoodoos go into effect, then shakily lets out an exhale of relief.  In the absence of pain, all other sensations are heightened, and he begins shivering rather violently—presumably from the cold. This worries you, because the courtroom, whilst not uncomfortably hot, is on the warm side. Perhaps his body is going into shock.  Still, it’s eons better than the unbearable pain he’d been enduring just moments before, and there is the faintest flicker of happiness inside your chest due to the fact you are able to provide him this, however temporary, relief. 

****

Feferi obviously notices Tavros’s sudden shivering, and she begins frantically whispering to him, presumably asking about his well-being.  From where you stand, you cannot see or hear whether Tavros replies her. 

****

But in the next moment, Tavros slowly, shakily, weakly lifts his heavy-horned head off Feferi’s lap and turns just slightly.  You forget to breathe when he makes eye contact with you for the first time since Lotam. 

****

His skin is glistening with water and sweat, the once-radiant grey reduced to a sickly pale pallor.  Other than that, however, his face remains relatively unblemished, unbruised, uncut—unlike the rest of his abused body.  His big brown eyes, however, are clouded and hazy, and somehow they’re... _ older _ , than the last time you saw him. He’s the same Tavros, but it looks like he’s endured a lifetime of sweeps since then.  

****

It doesn’t make him any less perfect, though.

****

You, having had your fair share of poor experiences since the incident at Lotam, wonder if he can tell you’ve changed as well.

****

Suddenly, the moment is over, because your view of Tavros has been obstructed as thick wavy hair, a jewel-encrusted crown, and gleaming fuchsia eyes rudely invade your line of vision. It’s not the first time you’ve come face-to-face with the Empress, but past meetings had been brief and formal, the stakes not nearly so high.  Still, you remember clearly how impressive her presence was, and she certainly doesn’t disappoint now. Still, you’re too distracted to be truly intimidated by her at the moment, and it’s not just because you’re still in shock (which you are). Using your chucklevoodoos as you are right now is delicate work, requiring massive concentration.  As a general rule, the purpleblood psychic power is less suitable for subtle manipulations than it is for full-bodied, indiscriminate attacks. It’s the psychic version of a sledgehammer; its torture is that of complete psychological overload. Subtlety, sharp and cunning as a knife, is more of a blueblood specialty. For you, it’s a fine line between disabling Tavros’s sense of pain, and overfrying his entire nervous system.  Yet you’re also reluctant to  _ stop _ using your chucklevoodoos this way, because then he’d be in extreme agony again and you don’t think you can stand that.  You have to be careful, there are no second chances here. This is motherfucking  _ Tavros _ , not just some nameless lowblood.

****

“Well, would you look at this,” the Empress croons, looking far too happy to see you; you blink, trying to direct your attention towards her.  “Mr. Makara, in the flesh. But where is all that promised  _ rage _ ?  You look so  _ calm _ , darling!”

****

She raises an immaculately-manicured hand up to your face and strokes gently.  The feeling of her fingernail just barely grazing your cheekbone is what finally snaps you out of your stupor, and reflexively, you bare your sharp teeth and snap at her.

****

She pulls her hand back just in time.  “Jegus,” she says, looking nothing but amused, “what’s with you silly trolls and  _ biting _ tonight?  First Ms. Peixes, and now you.  I a-shore you, fingers don’t taste  _ that _ good.”

****

Try as you might, you are unable to comprehend any of her words.  Your confused eyes flicker to her malicious ones for a few moments, but you are unable to maintain focus.  All you can remember is that Tavros is just several feet away and this motherfucking  _ seadweller’s _ standing in your way.  Peeved, you attempt to sidestep her, but she quickly blocks you.  

****

“Uh-uh-uh, not so fast little subjugglator!” she laughs teasingly.  It’s strange how she calls you little. You’re taller than her. “There are rules to this game, and if you don’t follow them...you don’t get the prize.”

****

A game?

****

She thinks this is a motherfucking  _ GAME _ ?

****

“And the rules dictated that Gamzee Makara must not arrive late, or his shitblood...whale, let’s just say that his shitblood won’t have the most fortunate of fates.”

****

She’s grinning widely and you don’t understand.  You thought smiles were supposed to be for the most mirthful of shit.  But there ain’t nothing humorous or miraculous about what’s coming out of Her Majesty’s mouth right now.  

****

“You’re late, Mr. Makara.  A little fish told me that...Tavros has to go.”

****

Everything is wrong.  Tavros’s beautiful name isn’t supposed to spill from cruel, cold lips like the Empress’s.  His name isn’t supposed to sound like  _ poison _ .  And still you don’t understand.  “Go where?” you ask, your voice a deep, cracking rasp.  It’s the first thing you’ve said since your initial outburst upon entering this accursed room.  That was only a few minutes ago, but you feel like you haven’t used your voice in a thousand years.

****

The Empress smiles.  “Heaven, perhaps,” she says.

****

That single word takes your breath away, and you feel like crying.  But you don’t; your eyes remain dry as you blink rapidly at the Empress, as though she were some unmiraculous illusion that you could dispel at will.  Fuchsia eyes blink back at you no matter how hard you open and close your eyelids.

****

Your answer, then, is simple.  Softly, in an almost inaudible voice, but with unbreakable resolution, you say, “Then I will motherfuckin’ follow him.”

****

The seadwelling monarch’s smile falters for just a moment—the slip is as brief as the flicker of a candle.  However, it  _ happened _ , and you saw it, for sure.  “Can’t have that happen, can we,” she answers in an undertone only you can hear.  What she meant, you have no time to contemplate, because Her Majesty then turns away from you and starts addressing the crowd in her booming voice once again.

****

“But I think we can all understand Mr. Makara’s lateness to some extent, hm?  You purplebloods, alwaves so bizarre. To show up  _ right _ after time was up.  I’m just tryin’ to figure out whether he meant it as a joke, or if being late is somefin considered ‘fashionable’ in clown culture.  Maybe you could enlighten us, Ms. Peixes, considering your...newly-acquired knowledge about the purpleblood ways?”

****

Feferi and Tavros are still blocked from your view, but the undeniable fury in the former’s voice is unmistakable.  Damn. Once upon a time, hadn’t you thought it would mirthful as shit to witness Fishsis having a motherfucking rageparty?  It doesn’t seem even remotely miraculous anymore. “ _ You heartless beach! _ ” she screeches, and something in the back of your mind tells you that it isn’t good that Feferi is  _ cursing at Alternia’s queen.  _ To the said queen’s _ face.   _ “How was he even supposed to  _ know _ about your  _ stupid _ glubbing time limit—“

****

“Wasn’t a motherfuckin’ joke,” you cut in dully.  You blink, not having even realized that you’d opened your mouth to speak.   You just remember the Empress wondering about whether your actions were meant as a  _ joke _ , and you felt the need to clarify that  _ nothing _ about this situation is a joke—it’d be blasphemous to associate the mirth of jokes with this most mirthless of ordeals.  

****

The Empress turns back towards you and considers you for a few moments.  Then, shrugging carelessly, she concludes, “Then I guess it  _ is _ considered fashionable, then.  Can’t imagine why such rudeness would be appreciated by you people, but then again, I ain’t a dumbass landweller, am I?”  She laughs. “But it could’ve been worse for you, Mr. Makara. We reelly were just about to go off with his head, but  _ fortunately _ Ms. Peixes stepped in just in time to explain a few things to us.  What a loyal auspistice!”

****

Feferi?   _ Auspistice _ ?  What the motherfuck is going on?  Panic starts to settle in your chest: a real,  _ tangible _ feeling that’s distinct from the primarily dazed emotions you’ve been experiencing so far.  You don’t like this feeling at all.

****

Feferi was never supposed to be part of the equation.  The more people are involved, the more complex this shit gets, like extra layers of a poisonous cake.  

****

And Tavros’s little mutant friend, Karkat, couldn’t have made it clearer that the caliginous quadrant was the only one that had potential to hold up in court.  He’d specifically mentioned that the ashen quadrant, while still technically a black quadrant, would bring nothing but trouble.

****

“Fishsis ain’t got no motherfuckin’ business in this shit,” you say desperately. “THIS IS BETWEEN MOTHERFUCKIN’ ME AND HIM!” Oh shit, your alternating whisper-shout is coming back.  You need to keep a cool head about this.  _  Deep breaths, Gamzee _ .  

****

The Empress laughs at your outburst.  “‘Fishsis’, huh? So endearing!” she exclaims as she observes you.  “Goodness, I think all of us can forgive Mr. Makara for his rudeness, don’t you?  I’d forgotten how much his antics used to entertain me. Dare I say...life in the Capitol without front-page headlines about your violent outbursts and lowblood cullings was starting to get  _ mundane _ .  I couldn’t be gladder I decided to give you a leave, and summon you home.”

****

The crowd roars their assent.  Even though your subjugglator colleagues despise you, among the general highblood population you are still seen as a model for highblood dominance, and respected for your formidable ancestry. In the past, you saw their admiration as further validation of your actions, but now, those fawning idiots disgust you beyond description.  Meanwhile, the gears in your head screech to a halt. 

****

_ What did the Empress just motherfuckin’ say?   _ You know for a fact that you went directly against the Empress’s orders, coming back to the Capitol as you did.  Effective fighter as you are, she wanted to keep you on the battlefront. The illegality of your return to the city was what caused so many a headache for Karkat, Feferi, and yourself.  Otherwise, you wouldn’t have had to deal with all that shit back in Lotam, making deals with that goldblood bastard Kuprum and his little friend Folykl and the Soleil twins (whom you still can barely believe you managed to cajole onto your side.  But that’s a story to mull over another time). 

****

And now the Empress just said  _ she _ was the one who called you back to the city.  What’s she playing at?

****

“Mr. Makara,” she continues, “you actually have no idea how happy I am about this turn of events.  For a long time I was worried about you. You never seemed to have much of an interest in anyfin ‘cept for your glubbing circus religion.  I understand that you’re still young, but...I’d started to get worried that you’d remain  _ celibate _ .” Wait, so does she think you are caliginous for Tavros after all?  Holy fuck, what has Feferi been telling her? “It’d be a great tragedy for Alternia’s posterity if the Grand Highblood’s spawn failed to contribute to the slurry.  But for so long, you never so much as  _ looked _ at another troll.  Whale, not without the intention of  _ krilling _ them, anywave.  We all know how you like your murder parties.”

****

You gawk at her in disbelief.  “Are you actually gonna motherfuckin’ stand there and talk about my motherfuckin’ SEX LIFE?” you ask crudely.  Some people in the audience snicker as though you’d just said something funny. 

****

The Empress’s response is not at all comforting.  “As a matter of fact, I  _ am _ , since  _ you _ haven’t had the decency to stop making eyes at the poor gutterblood over there,” she sneers.  “Ah, youth! You all try so hard to hide it, forgetting that we older, more experienced trolls have gone through all of it before— _ all of it _ .” 

****

“I have NOTHING to motherfuckin’ hide from y’all,” you snarl.

****

“Yes you do.  Keep it in your pants, though—it’s the one thing we  _ want _ you to hide,” she says.  Then she adds, “At least for now!  Hahaha!”

****

Despite yourself, you feel your face heating and you’re sure that even your face paint isn’t enough to hide the purple blood pooling in your cheeks.  You’re not normally shy about sex things, or much of anything at all—but the fact that she’s implying you have sex with  _ Tavros _ ...makes you both hot and ashamed.  You don’t understand  _ any _ of your feelings right now, to be honest, and it’s not really the appropriate time to be analyzing them, either.

****

“Don’t look so sour, Mr. Makara.  I’m just glubbing with ya, because honestly I reelly am proud of you for finally growing up a little and exploring your quadrant situation.  I think all of us here are happy to see how much you’ve grown since you left for war—wouldn’t you say?” she asks the crowd for their opinion, and their warm cheers are the loud answer. 

****

“I’ve got a soft spot for good little highbloods like you!” she continues, and you can’t help but twitch, recalling your pesterlog with Karkat and how he warned you to be exactly this: a “good little highblood”.  “As your loving Empress, I truly do want you to be happy,” the fuchsiablood continues. “But...that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve got somefin of a...troublesome taste in kismeses.” She turns and wrinkles her nose at Tavros with appalling derision.

****

“LIKE YOU HAVE ANY MOTHERFUCKIN’ RIGHT TO JUDGE, YOU—“

****

You force yourself to stop, knowing fully well that  _ cursing at the Empress to her face, _ as Feferi had done earlier, does not in any definition of the word make you a “good highblood” at all.  You’re not sure how much your attempt is worth, though, because the rage underneath in your blood is boiling like lava and you’re pretty sure it’s outwardly obvious.  

****

The Empress turns away from Tavros and smirks knowingly at you.  “Clam down, Mr. Makara. I only said it was troublesome.” Bluntly, she continues, “Your boyfriend is a lowblood war criminal.  He has committed multiple infractions that all warrant the death penalty.”

****

She’d been hinting at killing Tavros since the very beginning, but to have it said so clearly and directly, to your face...it sounds so final.  So hopeless.  _ No _ , you try to say,  _ I only just found him again _ , but your throat has once again closed up and all that comes out is an unintelligible croak.

****

“ _ However _ ,” the Empress continues, and you stand straighter.  Is there a chance, after all? “Despite your lateness, I must say that your timing was still almost laughably impeccable!  Let’s sea, what did you miss...ah, yes. I had just come to the decision that I shouldn’t be too hasty about disposing of your boyfriend.  You discovered that he has a rather unique skillset, didn’t you?”

****

“I—what?”  You don’t exactly understand her what her question is referring to.

****

“The brownblood, his psychic powers,” the Empress clarifies, a bit impatiently.

****

You open your mouth, bloodpusher stuttering.  Why does the Empress know about Tavros’s powers?  Why is she asking about them? How much does she know?  Should you tell her? Should you feign oblivion? Did something happen?  Should you go along with it—

****

And then you somehow catch Feferi out of the corner of your eye.  Her expression is grim, her normally plump lips set in a firm line.  And she’s boring holes into your face with her gaze, and you can tell she’s desperately trying to get some message across to you.  Then she gives a barely perceptible nod, and you understand. 

****

You look back at the Empress.  “I motherfuckin’ did,” you say confidently, because there’s little question the meowbeast is out of the bag by now and that there’s no point trying to lie.

****

“Hmph.  Whale, I wish you and Ms. Peixes woulda come forward about it sooner.  But, let’s put the past behind us now and focus on our future. More specifically, how his powers could kelp the war effort.  Ms. Peixes told us about your vision, Gamzee. I’m not part of your circus cult but I still think your  _ premonition _ , as we’ll call it, could be onto somefin.  Would you mind...telling us more about it?”

****

Fuck, what the fuck is she even talking about?  Again you glance briefly at Feferi, and she is looking at you even more heatedly now, screaming silent words at you with her eyes.  What you wouldn’t give for a private moment with your fishy sister now, just so she could fill you in about what you missed during the trial.

****

But that’s obviously not going to happen, so you silently pray for a miracle.  Wait a second—the Empress said something about your religion, and about a premonition.  A premonition that you had? ...About Tavros’s powers? Guardedly, you say, “If I motherfuckin’ tell the Messiahs’ secrets, it all up and motherfuckin’ breaks their miraculous magic.”

****

The Empress rolls her eyes.  “I had a feeling you would say that.  You juggalo lot, and all your stupid glubbing secrets.  Oh whale, I suppose that can’t reelly be kelped right now.  But sea-riously, Mr. Makara, you don’t have to tell us all the details.  But I need  _ some  _ kind of reassurance of what he’s able to do.”

****

You hesitate.  Well, if the Empress is  _ that _ interested in Tavros...that must mean she thinks he’s really powerful, right?  Deciding that you can’t do much more than make some shit up, you say, “He’s...motherfuckin’  _ different _ from all the other trolls.  He could probably rule all the motherfuckin’ wicked creatures on the fucking planet if he wanted to.  Can probably make sharks vegetarian or some shit. And tame any monster without even trying.”

****

You actually have no doubt that what you’re saying is true. After all, Tavros has already tamed the worst of monsters out there:  _ you _ .  

****

“Clearly, this is going nowhere,” the Empress says impatiently.  “I didn’t ask for a poet,  _ cod _ .  It’s like you folks never received any military training at all.  Okay, let’s...try this again, Mr. Makara. I’ll ask you some hypothetical questions, all right?  Again, this is all hypothetical, so you won’t have to worry about betraying your Messiahs or what the glub ever.  Got it, buoy?”

****

You sneer at her.  “Depends what kind of motherfuckin’ shit you’re plannin’ to bring up, Your Majesty.”

****

“Okay, whale, for every unanswered question, he gets another five lashes.  Deal?”

****

Even from where you’re standing, you can see Tavros tensing up at the mere mention of another whipping.  “...Motherfuckin’ fine,” you growl through gritted teeth, trying to temper the unbelievable hatred for the Empress that is bubbling in your gut.  

****

“Knew you’d come around,” she smirks.  “All right then, let’s waste no more time.  Say we’ve got a wild musclebeast. How long would it take Mr. Nitram to get it under his complete control?”

****

You try to shrug noncommittally, even though your bloodpusher is pounding.  “I dunno, I don’t test this shit out like a motherfuckin’ scientist. Few seconds, probably?”

****

“ _ Complete _ control?”

****

“I said I don’t motherfuckin’  _ know _ ; I was busy fightin’ a motherfuckin’ war and I didn’t think about testin’ this shit out!”

****

“Keep your tongue in check, Mr. Makara—or it’s off with his,” the Empress says swiftly. “If he were in the wilderness.  What would his range be?”

****

You recall the moment Tavros’s power caused what seemed like the entire forest to erupt in cacophony.  “Few motherfuckin’ miles, I guess.”

****

You, having lived with and gotten used to this information for a while now, are surprised when the Empress’s eyebrows jump high into her hairline.  “ _ Several _ miles?”  The courtroom immediately erupts into incredulous murmurs.  “Makara, you do reel-ize that a quarter mile is reelly glubbing stretching it for most bronzebloods?”

****

You allow your lips to curl into a nasty grin.  “Well, he ain’t ‘most bronzebloods’, then, is he?”

****

To your disappointment, she doesn’t take the bait.  On the contrary, she looks excited by your revelation.  “And how many of the beasts would he be able to control at once?”

****

Tightly, you shrug.  “Lots.”

****

“Affinity for any...certain type of beast?  _ Lusii _ , perhaps?”

****

The question causes you to jerk involuntarily, because that was way too specific.  Yes, Tavros  _ can _ , but it’s not a normal skill, why would the Empress motherfuckin’ ask it if…

****

“O-objection, Your Majesty!”  You and the Empress both turn, startled, at Feferi’s sudden outcry.  “You already know the answer to that question. That makes it rhetorical, not hypothetical—”

****

“Whale yes, Ms. Peixes, but regardless of the quality of the question, the answer is so absolutely terrific that I wanted to hear it straight outta Mr. Makara’s own glubbin’ mouth.  Now  _ shut _ yours, please.”  Turning back to you, the Empress arches an eyebrow.  “So?”

****

You silently thank Feferi for indirectly warning you that the Empress knows the truth—your Fishsis wouldn’t have had such a reaction otherwise.  You have no choice but not to lie. “Yes. I mean, I don’t motherfuckin’ know if it’s an  _ affinity _ , but he up and got the motherfuckin’ ability, all right.”

****

The Empress’s eyes light up, but she doesn’t actually seem surprised.  “Let’s say Mr. Nitram were...incapacitated, in the middle of communion.  What would happen? Would the beasts immediately turn wild again?”

****

“That motherfuckin’ question don’t need answerin’ ‘cause nothin’s gonna happen to him’ ‘round my motherfuckin’ watch,” you growl.

****

“Ha!  Not the answer I was looking for, but I’ll let it slide for now.  How about this: does his power have lasting effect? Once Mr. Nitram relinquishes control, do the animals remain tamed?”

****

You actually have to think about this one, but you honestly don’t know the answer.  “I can’t say in motherfuckin’ confidence, but I’d imagine it be possible for him to get down to motherfuckin’ trainin’ em completely.”

****

The Empress falls silent for a moment.  She turns her back to you and paces in circles, thinking. You breathe a sigh of relief for your short reprieve from her scrutiny.  You try to catch Tavros’s eye, but he has rested his head back in Feferi’s lap and is still shivering rather uncontrollably.  You swallow the acrid bile in the back of your throat as you once again rake your eyes over the bloody injuries he has sustained on his back.  A hammer pounds on the back of your skull in pain as you struggle to maintain control on your chucklevoodoos.

****

You start to grow antsy when quite a few minutes have already elapsed and the Empress continues to pace, a pensive look on her face.  The audience, which had been buzzing in curiosity and excitement, gradually grows increasingly silent as the minutes stretch on. They lean forward in their seats, their curiosity tangible as they await the Empress’s verdict.  Eventually you can hear nothing but the sound of your own labored breathing, and the squelching noises underfoot the Empress as she paces along the blood soaked floor. 

****

You actually jump a little in fright when she suddenly comes to a stop.  She stands directly between you and Tavros once again, blocking your view of him.  She turns her head to look at the bronzeblood appraisingly, but when she speaks she is addressing you.  

****

“Remind me how long you’ll be staying in the Capitol before your shipment back to the front,” she says.

****

You run your tongue over your sharp teeth nervously.  To be honest, you’d never even stopped to consider what would happen after Tavros’s trial—the main concern had been to remove him from immediate danger...and then what?

****

And there’s still the disconcerting factor that the Empress is acting like she was expecting you to return to the Capitol the whole time for a “vacation”.  You know for an absolute fact that this is not true. But if you call her out on it, you’d be highlighting the fact that you disobeyed her orders...on the other hand, you have no idea how you’re  _ supposed _ to react.  

****

“Erm...two...motherfuckin’...weeks, I think it was?” you stammer off the top of your head, simply providing what would be a plausible amount of time for a soldier to be on leave.  

****

The Empress gives you a knowing look that says,  _ I know that’s bullshit _ , and you shiver. 

****

“I’m extending your stay to two perigees,” is what she says aloud.  “Unfortunately, it isn’t going to be much of a vacation because I’m giving you an assignment.  However, if you successfully complete your tasks, then you’ll get a reward.” She points at Tavros.  “I’ll pardon his sentence, and you’ll get to keep him.”

****

“W-what?  Motherfuckin’... _ miracles _ .  Seriously?” You can’t help the burst of joy and relief that explodes in your chest, and the smile that stretches your face.  

****

It’s short-lived, though, because you have a feeling that whatever the Empress is planning to task you isn’t good news.  

****

She chuckles.  “Yes, sea-riously, Mr. Makara. Now listen carefully.  Using whatever means necessary, you are going to find out the extent of his psychic abilities.  Then you’re gonna train him.”

****

“Train...him?” 

****

“Yes.  It’s come to my attention that you are the only one who can do this, since he seems to shrug off everyone else’s psychic attacks.”

****

“O-okay.”  You swallow.  “But what for?”

****

“For the war.  What else?”

****

“F-for the war?” you echo, trying to keep yourself together.  “But...Your Majesty...my motherfuckin’...shitblooded bro can’t motherfuckin’  _ walk _ , how’s he supposed to—“

****

“C’mon, Mr. Makara.  We  _ are _ highbloods, not a bunch of traitorous gutterblood guerilla hooligans.  It should be fairly easy to design a device that can mobilize even a paralyzed troll on the battlefield.”

****

You clench your teeth at the way she so derisively talks about the condition of his body.  But there’s no way you can bring that up without triggering some serious suspicion. “Oh,” you say lamely.  

****

“Besides,” she continues, “I get the vibe that close combat ain’t reelly his thing, anywave.”

****

“...Probably not.”

****

“It won’t be the first time we employ gutterbloods on the front, but it’s alwaves important to be extra careful, since most of them are reluctant to fight their former comrades.  Usually, a good cobaltblood brainwashing is enough to keep ‘em in line. But since your boy ain’t so simpleminded, you’re gonna have to keep him on a tight leash, understand that?  It kelps that he already seems to be afraid of you.”

****

Tavros?  Afraid of you?  Little brownblooded brother ain’t afraid of you, is he?  Why would the Empress think that? Then again, she knows SHIT ALL about the connection you and Tavros share, but...the thought still makes you extremely uncomfortable on the inside.  You chance a glance in his direction, hoping for some signal of...reassurance, perhaps.

****

But Tavros lifts his head and doesn’t look at you at all.  “No—“ he gasps at the Empress, horror plastered all over his face.  You frown, not quite comprehending.

****

“Hahahahaha!  Look how excited he is already!” With a wicked smile, she laughs, “I can only imagine what this shit will do to the Low Side morale when they find out that Rufioh Nitram 2.0 is fighting for the highbloods.”

****

Fresh bronze tears start spilling down Tavros’s already tearstained cheeks, and suddenly you understand—perhaps a bit belatedly, but in your defense you ain’t at all thinking all that properly right now—exactly what the Empress is demanding.  You have no idea why the seadwelling tyrant is calling Tavros the 2.0 of whoever the motherfuck “Rufioh” is, but that’s not the point. 

****

The point is that the Empress wants to make a soldier out of Tavros.  Well, Tavros already  _ was _ a soldier, but a  _ Low _ Side one at that...and look where that got him.  Captured and terminally crippled. It’s bad enough to have to continue fighting after one’s body has already been irreparably damaged.  But what’s worse is that Her Majesty’s up and wanting Tavros to fight for the High Side—which means she wants to force him to fight, and probably kill, his former lowblood allies.  His  _ friends _ .  

****

Forced to fight the people one cares about; it’s a concept that’s difficult for you to understand, since there are few you have ever cared about at all.  For so long, you had only acquaintances whose existence you tolerated; everyone and everything else was prey. Tavros became the exception. 

****

But...Feferi is a friend now, right?  You try to imagine what’d it be like to be forced to kill her.  And the idea is surprisingly painful. 

“P-please,” Tavros is pleading, “anything but...just, don’t make me, uh, hurt them…”  The Empress ignores him.

****

“Do you understand, Mr. Makara?” the Empress asks you.  “I’m giving you two perigrees to prepare him. He’s...a blubbering mess right now, to be honest.  Ridiculous.”

****

Such a mission would destroy Tavros, wouldn’t it?  The gentle troll who would weep even for the  _ enemy _ …

****

Which is why you hate yourself when you nod and say, “I motherfuckin’ got it.”  Because the alternative would be to refuse, and let Tavros be executed. Which is something you can’t let happen.  Even if it means making him do something he hates? If that’s the means to keeping him alive, then yes. You would betray his ideals before betraying  _ him _ , although you can’t help but wonder if there is any real difference between the two.

****

“Don’t sound so resigned, Mr. Makara, I’m not done yet,” the Empress says forebodingly.  Your face crumples at the prospect of what  _ other  _ revolting tasks she could want from you.  “You sea, I’m extremely joyful that you’ve managed to fill your caliginous quadrant, Mr. Makara. As I said earlier, I used to be worried that you’d live your life so distracted by your ‘miracles’ that you’d fail to fill any concupiscent quadrants at all.  One-half of that problem solved itshellf, I sea. But that still leaves us with half a problem. That’s why...I want you to take the time you have at home to find a matesprit.”

****

There is an immediate uproar from the crowd, while your thinkpan goes a-scramble trying to comprehend what the Empress just said.  Her words are scattered in your head like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, and it takes you what feels like too long to piece them back together into something comprehensible.  When you do, you can’t help the way your jaw drops open. 

****

“WHAT,” you shout, and it’s less a question than an exclamation.  You don’t even know what to think.

****

“Yes,” she says as if nothing had happened.  “In fact, the imperial drones are making a collection in a perigree or so.”

****

You know that the imperial drones have been nothing but trouble for the Capitol since the start of the war.  The sudden drain of lowblood population and the distraction of war made the highbloods lose control of the imperial drones, which caused their collection periods to become much more frequent—and violent.  

****

“I don’t—even motherfuckin’  _ have _ a matesprit right now,” you hiss with a choked voice. “What you’re motherfuckin’ sayin’—is that—brother gotta find somebody in four weeks’ time—and motherfuckin’  _ pail _ with that bitch-ass slut.”

****

“Whale, it won’t be a ‘bitch-ass slut’ if you choose someone respectable,” the Empress consoles, sounding far too amused.  “I’m hoping that your taste in matespritship isn’t as poor as your taste in kismesistude. I apologize if it seems like I’m forcing you into a relationship you’re not ready for. But the drones are becoming increasingly antsy, and a decent purpleblood contribution will kelp satiate them this time around.  If it’s any consolation, you needn’t be o-fish-ial with anyone. But you do need to find at _least_ a temporary matesprit for at least this one teensy, tiny bucket.  Yes, I know it’s a sacrifice, but it’s a noble one.” 

****

You fail to see how being forced to fuck someone can be  _ anything _ but degrading, much less noble.  The more you think about it, the more you want to be REALLY MOTHERFUCKIN’ ANGRY that the Empress is gonna force you to give away the miracle of your first sacred cherry red pail to some...some  _ stranger _ .  And worse, it’s probably gonna be some highblood who thinks all lowbloods, Tavros included, are pieces of shit, and that is ideology you simply cannot even begin to tolerate anymore.  

****

And suddenly, a thought strikes you: there is one highblood you know who doesn’t share the Capitol’s damned ideology.   _ Feferi _ .

****

But you quickly and guiltily dash that thought, and not just because it feels weird as motherfuckin’ fuck to think about Fishsis that way, but also because you couldn’t possibly randomly demand a  _ bucket _ from her—not after everything she’s done, not after she just became your  _ friend _ .  

****

No, it would feel much easier, and much more guiltless, somehow, to demand this humiliating task from a stranger.

****

What you don’t know right now, is that very soon, Feferi won’t have a choice, either.

****

“Why so quiet, buoy?” the Empress asks, snapping you out of your train of thought.  

****

“No motherfuckin’ reason,” you mumble.  “Just...runnin’ through candidates in my head.”  You are in fact doing nothing of the sort, because you can think of precisely zero potential candidates.  But you suppose you’ll worry about that later. And as upset as you are about the ordeal, you find yourself unable to be truly angry about it, because Tavros’s life is on the line here and he would be worth it even if you had to fuck a  _ musclebeast _ .

****

“I’m glad you understand, Mr. Makara,” she croons triumphantly.  “And along the same vein...there’s one last thing I need from you.”

****

“Just one?” you ask, part relief and part extreme wariness.  

****

“Just one.”  She grins widely, showing all of her deadly, pointed teeth.  She finally moves out of the way between you and Tavros, and repositions herself right next to you.  

****

Nothing could have prepared you for what she says next.  

****

“You need to masturbate him.”

****

Several of the spectators start laughing, and for some reason, so do you.  It’s just so ridiculous that you can’t possibly have heard her correctly, and between your giggles you snort, “WHAT, haha HA...did you just, heh, MOTHERFUCKIN’...say?”

****

“I said,” she repeats, slowly as though conversing with a wiggler, “You need to masturbate him.”

****

You immediately cease laughing, because as unbalanced as you may be you don’t think that you could have misheard such a thing  _ twice _ .  You swallow, but your throat suddenly feels like desert sand.  “... _ Why _ ?” you choke out, trying and failing to piece together the Empress’s rationale in your mind.

****

“Because we’ve never let cripples live long enough to figure out it they’re capable of... _ production _ ,” she answers.  “So if he’s gonna be one of your concupiscents, we’re gonna have to verify that his nook’s not just as useless as his legs.”

****

That’s when it hits you, like a freight-train. If the Empress intends for you to contribute to the next collection, not only will you have to find a “matesprit”; you’ll have to pail with a kismesis, too.  Which means…

****

In less than a month’s time, you and Tavros will have to do  _ it _ together.  Somehow, the thought is much more horrifying than the thought of having to do it with a stranger.  

****

“That’s just…motherfuckin’...”  You find yourself shocked speechless and unable to continue.  

****

The Empress nods at you serenely.  “Whenever you’re ready. Oh, and—hands only, please!”

****

You gawk at her.  “What, right— _ now _ ?”

****

You can feel bile rising in your throat when she just nods again.  Like an iron fist, panic clutches your organs and slowly  _ squeezes _ . 

****

Amidst the commotion, Feferi suddenly screams what you are too stunned to communicate. “Pardon my— _ insolence _ —Your Majesty— _ but what the glub is wrong with you _ ?  I’m pretty shore that—Gamzee has never—“ her cheeks flush a deep fuchsia as she makes lame gestures in the air—“done,  _ that _ , before, and now you’re asking him to—“  She shakes her head furiously, long hair flying about her face.  “That’s not even the glubbing point; it wouldn’t matter if he actually  _ were _ a glubbing whore, because this isn’t a whorehouse, it’s the  _ royal courthouse _ !  In public, and—”

****

“Yeah, I’m whale aware of that, obviously,” the Empress interrupts, rolling her eyes as though Feferi’s behavior were ridiculous.  “That’s why I’m not asking Mr. Makara to  _ actually _ consummate right  _ now _ .  I just wanna know if the gutterblood is even carpable of producing genetic material.  I could very whale have anyone else do it, but I decided it would be disrespectful to Mr. Makara to have someone else touch his shitblood right in front of his lookstubs.”

****

Feferi looks furious, spittle flying from her mouth as she flubs for a response.  Motherfuck...with a temperament like that, she really is lucky to be a highblood, otherwise she would have been punished long ago.  You still can’t be sure that she won’t eventually be. “FINE, but... _ here _ ?   _ Now _ ? You’re only saying that because you  _ want _ to watch, you sick, dirty— _ pedophile _ —“

****

“SHUT IT!”

****

And the entire hall falls silent.  

****

You have no idea what or why she was set off so suddenly, but the Empress sounds livid.  Something snapped her, and this time it is  _ she _ who has  _ really _ stopped playing games.  You’re reminded that as much as anyone may try to negotiate with, grovel before, or even argue with the Empress, she is still the one troll in all of Alternia who can literally do anything she wants with no consequences, from whom no one is safe. You feel like you can’t breathe.  All eyes are on her, and every troll in the room seems to recognize how dangerous she is at this moment; even the brawniest of them shuts the fuck up. Even you, who are not easily intimidated by anybody, have to fight not to drop to your knees and bow your head in the face of the mesmerizing power she emanates.  

****

“I’m pretty shore this wasn’t the first time I told you to zip your glubbing lips, Peixes!” the Empress hisses, her voice at normal volume now but no less poisonous.  “So glubbing  _ zip _ them before I eject you from  _ my _ glubbing courtroom.  I don’t want to be here any more than  _ you _ want to be, and it’s only for the sake of the Empire that I’m debasing myshellf to spending a whole day looking at scum like  _ him _ .”  She points a rude finger at Tavros.  “So don’t tell me how to do my job when you’ve so clearly failed at yours.”  You assume she’s referring to Feferi’s stint in the military. 

****

Feferi looks like she desperately wants to say something, but wisely keeps her lips clamped, this time.  

****

To no one in particular, the Empress seethes, “I coulda krilled that bitch the moment he stepped in here—oh excuse me, when he allowed himshellf to be  _ carried _ in here like he was  _ entitled _ to our service.  By all rights it’d be more than he deserves.  As an Empress I have capacity for mercy, but I don’t believe  _ any of you _ understand how many concessions I’ve already made this evening.”

****

And with a sudden flip of her hair, she turns on you.  “I’ve wasted more than enough time humoring you, landdweller,” she spits.  “First, you arrive late, getting you to answer my questions was like pulling teeth, and now you’re over there dragging your feet doing jegus knows what.  Take all the time you want, Mr. Makara, but just remember that I can still change my mind ANY TIME.”

****

And so, you don’t waste an extra second.  The expression on your face is blank as you walk forward, but in truth the thoughts are raging inside your head.  Your fists are clenched by your sides. Feferi looks up as you approach, and there is alarm in her eyes. She pulls Tavros closer to her body, as if attempting to shield the lowblood from your advances.

****

Deep inside, you know she means well, but her action only serves to frustrate you.  Why? Maybe because she’s somehow managed to piss off the Empress. Maybe it’s because of the way she’s looking at you, or maybe it’s just because she’s closer to Tavros right now than you are.  You avoid looking at her eyes. Your facial expression does not change when you roughly grab Feferi’s wrists, your long claws digging into her flesh. You feel a sadistic spike of satisfaction alongside a wave of unfamiliar guilt when she lets out a pained and surprised gasp, and without hesitation you simply throw her out of the way.  

****

That leaves Tavros alone on the floor right in front of you.  Your chucklevoodoos are still activated, so you know he is in delirium, but not any real pain, right at this moment.  But his bloody back is still facing up and it looks even worse close up. You can see the torn sinews of flesh that run in long stripes across his skin—it almost looks like someone tried to turn him inside out.  You want so badly to touch him, and yet you fear causing more damage than what has already been done.

****

His face is pressed against the floor now; he’s not looking at you.  You kneel down in front of him, and with a shaking hand, reach out and gently tug on his overgrown mohawk.  His hair is greasy and horrendously matted, but to your biased senses it feels like the highest quality silk in all of Alternia.  

****

Your expression still does not change when he lifts his head any just...looks at you. You don’t know how to describe his expression at that moment.  His eyes...they’re dazed, drained, lacking in vitality...but far from empty. There is pain, fear, and grief in them, but that isn’t all. You couldn’t possibly describe in words what else it is that fills his brown eyes, though.

****

This felt like a moment between just the two of you, and yet you were acutely aware of just how many pairs of eyes were pinned on you at the moment.  Why’d your reunion with him have to be like this? The concept of privacy could never have felt more foreign. Neither you nor Tavros utter a sound when you lean forward and pull him into an upright position, though his face contorts in discomfort while yours maintains stoniness.  You want to blanch at the way his useless legs are dragged across the floor by your action, but you merely hold him upright with one hand and used the other to take hold of the deadweight limbs and position them on either side of your waist. He wouldn’t be able to fight it if he wanted to.  You don’t want to know whether he wants to. You haven’t the foggiest what he’s thinking right now.

****

Once his legs are properly situated, you set his bum down on your lap so that he’s basically straddling you.  He doesn’t do anything to fight it, and continues to look at you with that indecipherable expression; it doesn’t change aside from his occasional wince of discomfort.  You’ve never felt so close yet so far away from him. 

****

You tear your eyes away from his face and look down.  In this position, his bare chest is parallel to your clothed one and only inches from it.  Unlike his back, the front side of his body is relatively unblemished, if only a bit dirty from lack of recent ablution.  You end up looking at his chest for longer than you intended, unsure how you feel about it.

****

And then you continue to look downwards, to his waist where his pants are loosely hanging.  Wait… “These are mine..” you say, noticing for the first time that he’s still clad in your polka-dotted pants.  You run your fingers across the waistband.

****

And downwards, beyond that…

****

The Empress is silent now, but you know she’s behind you, watching, watching.  Feferi is several feet behind Tavros, looking broken and resigned, tears falling unashamedly down her cheeks.  That girl has gotta learn to keep her emotions under control. You really wish she would just stop. 

****

The Empress said earlier that if you could complete this task, then Tavros wouldn’t have to die.  You’re willing to pay any price for his life, even if  _ he _ may not want to pay it...right?  

****

All you can hear is ringing in your ears when your fingers dip below the waistband of his pants, touching the hot, hot skin underneath.  You decide that this is a good position in which to do the dirty deed; at least the view of his crotch is hidden from spectators this way, sandwiched between both of your bodies.  You just have to reach into his pants and stimulate him within the thin confines of the garment; of course everyone will know what’s happening underneath the cloth but no one will have to see it, right?  Then it’ll be over.

****

Your fingers continue to travel south, grazing across hot skin and you wonder if he can even feel your hand.   Considering the situation, you wonder if it’d even be a bad thing if he couldn’t.

****

And then your fingers encounter a spongy stretch of flesh and a slit, and you know you’ve touched the sheath of his bulge.  It’s like bolt of electricity running through your bloodstream, and then you make the mistake of looking up at his face. You still don’t know if he can actually feel it, but his eyes tell you that he knows  _ exactly _ where you’re touching him.  

****

His lips tremble, as though they want to form words, but nothing comes out.

****

You are suddenly struck with the urge to kiss him.

****

Too many confusing thoughts are invading your thinkpan all at once.  Through the messy foray, you suddenly realize exactly  _ what _ you’re doing and you quickly pull your hand out his pants as though burned.  Among your raging emotions, self-hatred suddenly burns so prominently that you want to throw up.

****

“What a motherfucking DISGRACE,” you say to yourself, but Tavros flinches.  Too late you realize that you were still looking at him and he probably somehow thought you were calling  _ him _ a disgrace.  Yet you cannot assure him otherwise, not here and not now.  

****

You turn your head towards the Empress and blabber, “My hands are too motherfuckin’ cold.”

****

She stares at you, completely caught off guard by your non-sequitur.  “What?”

****

“He’s a lowblood, his body’s all up and motherfuckin’...warm everywhere.  It’s cold in here—“ utter lie, it is  _ not _ , at least not to you, but—“and it’s makin’ my hands all freezing and I’m not experienced enough at this kind of shit and there’s no motherfucking  _ way _ I can make enough miracles to make him feel good like this.  Since, you know, the point is to milk some of that miraculous...genetic...elixir.”

****

Holy shit, you cannot believe you managed to spurt such nonsense from your mouth. There’s no way the Empress is going to accept such a lame explanation…

****

But by some miracle, her expression actually turns contemplative.  “Cold? Whale, I guess you landdwellers are weak-kneed that wave, huh?  Feels just fine to me.”

****

Seizing the opportunity, you nervously continue to ramble, “And, it wouldn’t motherfuckin’ matter if I was like, motherfuckin’ Vriska-level experienced at this shit, ‘cause you know, uh, I mean little dude’s in so much pain right now how could he produce a droplet worth a motherfuckin’ damn, paralyzed or not.”  You try to laugh it off, but your voice cracks in the middle and you end up sounding...broken and slightly insane, probably.

****

The Empress frowns, as though deep in thought.  Desperation surges within you and you blurt, “Please, Your Majesty?  I ain’t sayin’ I won’t do this shit, just askin’ to wait till he ain’t half inside-out and bleedin’ all over the goddamn motherfucking place.”

****

You refuse to break eye contact with the Empress as she observes you critically.  You seriously have to wonder what’s going on in that twisted pan of hers. After what feels like too long, she finally lets out a loud exhale.  

****

“Fine,” she drawls.  “I guess I can’t say that’s an unreasonable request.”  When she sees the relieved smile that crawls over your face, she says warningly, “Realize that I’m providing all of you a favor you  _ don’t _ deserve.”

****

“Thanks so  _ motherfuckin’ much _ , Your Majesty,” you say.  There’s a bit of resentful sarcasm in your voice, but at the same time you really cannot help but genuinely feel ridiculously relieved.

****

She looks like she wants to scoff at you.  You chew your lip furiously. She finally settles for a shake of her head, before turning away and clapping three times, loudly.  “I think that’s enough for today,” she says. “This case is adjourned. The defendant was found guilty of all counts, but sentencing will be suspended to a later date, owing to...extraordinary circumstances.  In the meantime, Tavros Nitram will be placed under the custody of Gamzee Makara. During this time, Mr. Nitram shell assume the status of a caliginous servant. As such, no other troll of any blood color may harm him, aid him, or interact with him without Mr. Makara’s presence, or under my direct orders.

****

“Because of these unexpected circumstances, all other cases that were scheduled to be tried today will be postponed.”

****

The courtroom breaks out into applause, and when the clapping continues with no further comment from the Empress, you realize...just like that, the trial...this gogdamned  _ motherfucking _ trial...and perhaps the most difficult trial of your life thus far...is over.  And by all rights the outcome was a favorable one.  By all means you should have expected no more than to be severely punished for what you had done—perhaps killed—before the Empress’s feet, right alongside Tavros—who had more than a few qualities that warranted culling.  But that hadn’t happened, had it? Perhaps the method of achieving this miracle hadn’t exactly gone according to Karkat’s plan, but in the end this result could still be considered a success. 

****

But the relief you felt earlier is gone.  As Tavros continues to sit on your lap, slumped against you, you tell yourself that you should be happy to finally have him so close to you, to be able to hear his breathing—proof that he is indeed  _ alive _ .  But your close proximity to his body only serves to remind you of what you were about to... _ do _ to him, just now, and the sound of his labored breaths remind you of the literal beating his body has taken, and of the amount of blood he’s likely lost from it.  Of the painful recovery in his imminent future. Regardless of circumstance, how can you ever muster even a shred of happiness amid so bleak a situation?

****

You don’t even have the luxury of feeling hollow, or empty.  Instead, a sickening sense of dread pools in your acid tract and spreads to the rest of your body like poison.  

****

After all, this first formal, official trial may be over, but it seems that there are many more to come, and that they’re only going to get more unpleasant from here on out.  

****

“Just one last word of advice, Mr. Makara?”  The Empress is suddenly right beside you—you hadn’t even noticed her approaching. The audience is still clapping, not listening—these words are for you alone. “No more fucking around with your quadrants.  I don’t care if you choose to get a  _ reel _ auspistice, but—I’ll be watching this time around, about where your loyalties  _ truly _ lie.”

****  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of my struggle over this chapter is whether or not I'm staying true to character. PLEASE, guys, let me know if anything feels OOC. It's something I try to avoid like death, but it still happens to the best of us. And I'm certainly not the best


End file.
